Awakened
by OUATLovr
Summary: It is five years into the Golden Age of Narnia, and the tyranny of the White Witch lives on only in Edmund's nightmares. Yet the Witch's faithful have found a way for her to return, and now that she is back, she will stop at nothing to win Narnia for herself and destroy the prophecy. This time, she will make sure that Edmund pays for his betrayal, without Aslan there to save him.
1. Chapter 1

Awakened

A/N: Five Years into the Golden Age of Narnia...

Disclaimer: No, I don't own Narnia

The wayward wolf stamped its foot, throwing down the burlap sack held between its teeth onto the floor of the cave and lifting its head in a mighty howl to announce its presence.

A moment later, two figures emerged from the shadows of the dark underground chasm. The first was ugly and small, dressed in brown rags and with green hair. One of the last hags inhabiting Narnia. All the rest had fled or been forcibly removed to the North. The second was larger, but less human, and more like the wolf. It was mangy though, the wolf could tell, so he kept his distance.

It had been a long journey to get here, and no one had allowed the poor wolf a moment's rest after the creatures working for these two had found him in the black woods with the burlap bag. The minotaur had led him down here and told him to wait. He was still panting a little. He'd been running with the sack's handles between his teeth for the better part of the day, and it was almost evening now. The sack was heavy.

"Do you have it?" the hag asked, its high, raspy voice coming out in one long breath. It stepped towards the bag in excitement. Water dripping from the ceiling caused the hag to look up.

They were safe here, she told herself. The Narnians typically avoided land this far North, plus they were underground. There was another wolf up above, this one's companion, who was to howl in warning if anyone did indeed approach.

The wolf pawed the ground next to the sack. "Of course. I would not have come without it. But it was a difficult journey, fraught with danger, especially getting in and out of Tashbaan. I do not understand why the boy had to be from Tashbaan. It would have been much more simple to sneak across the border into Archenland and steal a boy from there. One would think they'd never seen a talking wolf before."

He needn't have bothered. The hag and the other creature were no longer paying him the least bit of attention. The hag stepped forward and ran a gnarled finger and long yellow nail along the burlap bag, causing whatever was inside to thrash about a little, and then closed its eyes and smiled.

"Yes," she said. "This will do." A look of pure ecstasy crossed her features, but she quickly buried it down. She had been waiting a long time for this.

The wolf eyed the bag suspiciously. "Are you sure this will work?" He didn't want them getting in trouble for this if it didn't work. He doubted their prosecutors would be very understanding.

Suddenly, the bag began to twitch into movement. The hag jumped back, squealing, and the other creature stiffened. The wolf rolled his eyes, and then leaned forward and growled at the bag. It fell still once more.

The hag turned around to glare at the wolf. She laughed. "Of course it will. Do you doubt?"

"I do not doubt her," the wolf amended, looking nervous for the first time. "I simply fear this legend-,"

"They are one and the same!" the hag shouted at him, all in one breath. It gasped when it was finished and turned back to the sack.

The other creature nodded his mangy agreement. "More than one thousand nights I have sat under a Narnian sun, ruled by creatures who enjoy the warm. I will wait no longer." His raspy voice scared the simple wolf, but the wolf thought of his fallen leader, killed by Wolf's Bane, and nodded his consent.

The mangy creature kicked the burlap sack with his paw, and it moved a little, groaning.

"Where did it come from?" the hag asked. It was the first time the creature appeared interested in the contents of the bag. She licked her lips.

"Calormene," the wolf responded casually. "As you told me. I couldn't find anyone until I reached Tashbaan, though, so I hope you appreciate the danger I was in. See, I told you it was difficult to procure him for you. Why, I almost got captured multiple times-"

"Be quiet, wolf," the hag snapped in his general direction, not paying him the least attention. She turned to the other creature and gestured towards the bag with gnarly fingers. "Open it."

"Why did it have to be from Calormene?" the wolf dared to ask, and the hag fixed him with a glare.

"Because, wolf, anyone taken from Archenland would have been missed. They do not value human life the same way in Calormene. And anyone taken from Archenland..." she did not finish the sentence because she knew the human was awake and did not want to give him any ideas.

The mangy one stepped forward, ripping open the bag with his paws. As it came undone, the contents spilled out onto the ground of the cave.

It was a human. A boy, as the hag had demanded he be. A girl would not have worked. He stepped out into the cave, glancing around nervously and rubbing together his bound hands. The creatures regarded him in silence. He was ugly and hairless, except for his head. He was also short, which made them assume he was a child. He was wearing traditional Calormene clothing, but for the turban, which must have fallen off in the night. There were multiple bruises on his body, presumably from when the wolf had dropped the bag a few times. He stared at his captors-for there was no doubt that these were his captors-in disbelief.

"Animals," he stated stupidly. "Talking animals." He had heard of such creatures, brought to Tashbaan as slaves and sold to the wealthy. The Tisroc was rumored to have one hundred of them, but he had never actually heard one speak before. "Then we must be in..."

"Welcome to Narnia," the mangy one said drily. "Or, just North of it. I'm not sure if where we are technically qualifies anymore. It was once part of Narnia, and many lived here, long ago. But for a long time it has been abandoned."

The boy stared at him with wide eyes. "How did I get here? I was in Tashbaan, and you'd have to cross a desert to reach Narnia. That's quite a journey. What do you want from me?"

The wolf stepped forward, glad someone was taking notice of his troubles. "Yes, it was. Not to worry; we took a ship back to Archenland, and snuck through into Narnia. No one even knew you were with me."

The boy wrapped his arms around his midsection and shivered. Although it was mid-summer here, he was still freezing. Calormene was a desert, after all, and he wasn't used to anything colder. This was one of the most terrifying situations he had been in, and he had been in a lot.

The hag was studying the boy. Now, she spoke. "We do not want to hurt you, child." She didn't sound very reassuring and her grating voice bothered him. "We are simply in dire need of your help, and there are not many humans around these parts." Those who were around wouldn't have helped. "If you do as we ask of you, we shall let you go, and provide you passage back to Calormen land. You will also be richly compensated for it."

The boy liked his lips a little greedily. "What sort of compensation?" he asked.

The hag smiled, pulling the skin on her face taught. "More money than you have perhaps ever seen. You will no longer have to live as a beggar in your own homeland."

The boy considered this for only a moment. The prospect of getting off the streets was simply too hard to pass off, and these people hadn't hurt him yet. In his experience, it someone was bad, they would hurt him. Surely the fact that these creatures had not yet harmed him said something of itself.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked. These creatures frightened him more than any of his masters in Tashbaan ever had, but they didn't seem to want to harm him. And their plight made sense. He had oft heard that Narnia was a land ruled by barbarian children and overrun with talking beasts.

The hag grinned. "Let the circle be drawn!" she shouted in that breathless voice. Then she pulled out a knife and cut loose his hands. At the same time, she cut his wrist, and a trickle of blood dripped from it. He did not cry out. He was a simple Tashbaan beggar; he'd been through worse injuries.

The boy did flinch, however, as the hag began singing a strange song. The other creature started digging the long nail on his index finger into the cave floor, drawing it around the boy and the hag in a circle.

This seemed to go on forever. Then the hag pulled out a long stick, waving it above her head, and the boy felt his ears begin to buzz. At the end of the stick was an icicle that looked like it could easily skewer. If the boy was Narnian, he would have recognized the evil instrument immediately.

The White Witch's Wand.

As it was, he just looked on with curiosity as the hag stabbed the wand into the cave floor in front of her with a loud scream. The boy cringed, waiting expectantly for something to happen, but nothing did.

And then the ground started to shake a little. The floor around the wand seemed to expand for a moment. The boy realized a moment later that the floor was not expanding but being covered in a thick layer of ice that was slowly moving outwards to envelop the walls. Then the ice grew upward, shockingly fast, creating a wall of ice in front of them that blocked the entrance to the cave. The wolf whimpered.

The hag stepped back, letting go of the wand and looking happily at the ice wall. Her bare feet, with their long toe nails, scraped against the ground.

One moment the ice wall was just that, an ice wall, impossibly there in the middle of one of Narnia's hottest summers, and the next, there was a woman inside the ice, startling, serious eyes staring down at the Calormene boy. Unblinking. Her hair floated around her head as if she had just submerged under water. Her skin was as white as snow, and for a moment the boy wondered if she were dead. Only her lips, red like blood, held any color. The boy could only vaguely see the outline of her body. The dress she wore was of the purest white and blended fully into her skin.

The hag, wolf, and werewolf backed up quickly, terrified and awestruck, leaving the woman behind the ice with the boy and bowing low before her.

The boy stood with an open jaw, awed by her beauty. She was obviously barbarian, like the Kings and Queens of Narnia, but she was human. And she was the most beautiful woman the Calormene beggar had ever seen. He didn't dare move, just stared at her. Her eyelashes looked like they were made from snowflakes, and her cheekbones were high. But how was she inside the ice?

"Hello, child," she spoke, alerting him to the fact that she was not lifeless, her voice like little raindrops pattering against his cheeks, and he found himself caught up in that smile, unable to pull his gaze away.

The boy blinked at her stupidly. "You are most beautiful," he said finally.

The woman smiled at him then, for the first time. It did not reach her eyes. No blush stained her snowy white cheeks. Other than her lips, her face did not move.

"Ah, but child, I am only a shadow of the beauty I once was," she sighed, looking softly and pleadingly at him. He found himself enthralled by those eyes. In that moment, he couldn't imagine anything more beautiful.

He swallowed. "What...What happened to you?" He realized then that the wolf, hag, and werewolf seemed to have disappeared somewhere behind him. He preferred it that way.

The woman's face hardened at the question, and the memories that came with it, and for a moment the boy was afraid she was going to hurt him. Then her face went sad again, and she looked serene, examining her hands as she spoke. "Those who sought to do me harm while I roamed the world locked me away in a fate akin to death. I cannot escape this ice prison on my own; they have ensured that. But you, dear, you can free me. And when you do, I shall be indebted to you for your kindness, and you shall see my former beauty."

The boy smiled. "What can I do?"

A smirk touched the woman's lips and she reached out her hand, stunningly pale, sparkling in the dim light of the cave. It slowly came out of the ice wall, and the process seemed almost painful. She pointed in a nonthreatening way to his bleeding wrist. Her eyes were wide with her fervor. "One drop of human blood," she told the boy. "Touch me and you set me free."

Her hand reached out towards him, though he was too far away for her to touch. A desperate look came over her eyes but she need not have worried.

The boy did not hesitate to step forward and take her hand. He clutched it in his bloody one, and the blood slowly began to trickle down into her palm. Her eyes were glued to their clasped hands and she licked her lips. She squeezed his wrist tightly. He cringed and more blood began to come out, spilling on her fingers.

It wasn't until then that the enchantment she had placed over him began to wear off and he realized that he knew exactly who this stunning beauty was. He may have only been a beggar boy, but all of Tashbaan had at least heard of her. His eyes widened as they flitted from her, to his bloody hand, to the wand. He could feel his blood squishing against her palm already, and knew it was too late. He had allowed his greed and her enchantment to get the better of him.

The Calormen knew of the Barbarian Witch Queen who had ruled Narnia with her ice and eternal snow before the Barbarian Kings and Queens. She had been the one thing to keep the Calormen from invading years before, since no one could get past all the snow. She was a powerful lady, and all of the world had feared her at one time.

But she was dead. She had died in a great battle between her, the new Kings and Queens, and their creature, that lion.

And he had just brought her back to life somehow. He still wasn't quite sure how.

The White Witch.

She laughed as the ice encasing the rest of her body crumbled and then melted into water, and stepped out of her prison for the first time in five years. Her legs felt a little wobbly, like she had been injured and was walking for the first time since. The white gown she wore hugged her frame, sleeveless, but it was still stiflingly hot.

"Yes child," she dropped his hand when she saw the recognition in his eyes. "It is I. Jadis, true Queen of Narnia." She took a long suck of air, breathing it in, letting it fill her lungs, and grinned like a child. She could feel sweat breaking out on her brow and knew what had become of her poor country, but did not let it bother her. Soon, she would see Narnia restored to its former beauty and glory.

The Calormene boy who had freed her slowly began backing out of the circle he was still standing in. The hag, wolf, and werewolf stood as one, coming forward and bowing before the witch.

She ignored them all, turning and gingerly picking up the wand still standing upright in the ground, though no ice held it up anymore. She could feel its energy surging through her and knew without a doubt that it had been restored, despite that foolish boy's attempt to destroy the magic in it. She wondered how long restoring it had taken the hag.

Holding it like a child in her arms, she took a step forward, towards the boy. Raw fear radiated through him as she reached out and touched his cheek with her hand, smearing his face with his own blood.

"Thank you, little fool," she smiled icily. And then she took the wand and ran him through. His eyes widened in surprise and his face contorted, his hands groping blindly for his stomach. He gasped as she yanked the wand from his torso and fell to his knees in pain, arms wrapped around himself. She cocked her head, studying him for a moment. He reminded her of Edmund.

Then she turned the Calormene boy to stone. Grinning at him as he knelt in the cave, a painful look permanently etched on his features, she said, "Hag, carry the body somewhere the Narnians will find it easily. Let it be a warning to any who see it. I have returned."

The hag nodded, scraping forward and dragging the heavy stone statue towards the entrance, no longer blocked by ice.

The witch turned to the wolf and werewolf next. "Well done," she praised them. She turned specifically to the werewolf next. "One last service and your debts to me will be paid in full." She took a step forward. The werewolf whimpered in fear.

"Tell me what has become of the little traitor whose blood should have been mine." She leaned down until she was eye to eye with the werewolf, a cruel, twisted smile filling her face, and this time, it did reach her eyes. "Tell me of Edmund, the little King."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Still don't own it...

Lucy- 14 years old, Edmund-15 years old, Susan-17, Peter-18

Edmund sighed, turning to look at himself in the mirror hanging on the hallway wall, running a hand through his messy raven hair. He had been out sparring with one of the centaurs and Phillip since early this morning, and had forgotten all about today being court day, when the Narnians brought their grievances and disputes before the Kings, once every month. Something the centaur had said reminded him of it, and he ran back inside, only to discover that it was nearly noon, and Peter was going to kill him for forgetting.

Over the years, Edmund's wisdom and sense of justice had earned him back the respect and love of the Narnians almost as much as they loved and respected his siblings, but he still wasn't sure it was enough. He didn't know if it would ever be enough. He wanted to do everything he could to keep that from being true, but it felt as though if he messed up once the Narnians would remember their grievances against him, despite Aslan's affirmation.

But it had been five years since the White Witch, and the only reminders of her were the nightmares and the small scar on his stomach that would always be there, despite his wound having healed, from when she'd stabbed him. He knew he owed Narnia still, and always would, for his treachery, but he wished someone would at least warn him when public functions he was part of were taking place.

He was covered in sweat from riding and fighting hard all morning, and he had just managed to change into royal robes out of his chain mail. He was still wearing his sword, but he didn't really have the time to remove it now. His hair was an absolute mess, a stubborn cowlick sticking straight up in the air, despite his best efforts as he looked at it in the hallway mirror he had found.

"Ed, you're supposed to be in the throne room," Susan's voice came out of nowhere, snapping Edmund from his thoughts, gently reprimanding and completely hypocritical. The Queens did not have to go to the court day, but she usually went anyway, and Lucy, out of boredom since none of her siblings were around, usually went, too, or spent the day with the healers.

She had been doing that a lot lately. Learning to heal was Lucy's new fetish. It was certainly useful, considering how much her brothers got injured.

Susan swished up behind him in a long, golden, shimmering dress and shifted the crown on his head, then gave him a smile in the mirror, fixing his hair with her fingers. She grimaced at how skinny he looked."Today's a court day, you know. There will be at least fifty grievances for Edmund the Just."

Edmund sighed again, pretending to be overly distraught, but secretly pleased. Court day was one of his favorite mandatory functions. It was certainly than going to a ball in Archenland. "Don't remind me."

Susan laughed teasingly, trying to tame a particular curl just over Edmund's left ear that refused to stay in place, ever the mother hen. "Oh, they're not that bad. Peter seems to enjoy them."

"That's because he's Peter," Edmund snapped, but there was a smile in his eyes. "Don't pretend its normal; I saw you yawning twenty-four times last Court day and Lucy actually fell asleep in the middle of that squirrel giving a speech on how the different types of nuts really are significant."

Susan smirked. Her dress shimmered with the movement, casting gold shadows on the walls, as she placed a hand on her hip. "Only twenty-four? I'd have thought it would be more than that. Or...that was the day those handsome nobles came from Tashbaan, wasn't it? Yes, that would explain it."

Edmund rolled his eyes. He was about to make some snarky comment, but his sister interrupted him.

"Well, we'd best get down there before Peter has all of Narnia looking for us," Susan said, pulling her hand off of Edmund's shoulder where it had been resting only a moment before. She tried to sound like she was joking, and she probably was, but the words still stung. Edmund remembered the last time all of Narnia had been looking for him and shivered. He didn't let her see it however, and started walking, arm in arm with her, in the direction of the Throne Room.

"You think Lucy's already in there?" he asked Susan playfully as they passed a low curtain obstructing their view of the hallway closet, one of Lu's favorite hiding places in Cair Paravel because it reminded her so much of the hide and seek games they used to play when they were younger. The curtain giggled and a lithe young girl sprung out from behind it, her curls bouncing along with her. She was dressed in a plain but pretty pink dress and wore white, satin slippers.

"And leave you two to have all the fun?" she demanded, grinning at the way Susan jumped a little at the sight of her. "I think not."

"Well, if we don't already have a victim I suppose we'll all have to go." Edmund let out a dramatic sigh as Lucy took his other arm and they continued on their walk to the throne room at the very end of the hall. There was a side door that the Kings and Queens almost always used when they wanted to get into the throne room without causing a ruckus.

When they reached the side door into the throne room, the badger standing guard glared at them, but not too seriously, raising himself to his full height and scolding, "Court's already been started for a while now, Your Majesties."

"Oh, good," Lucy smirked. "That means it shouldn't be more than a few hours longer."

"Ah, yes, it took me a while to track these two down," Susan said, casting stern looks at the other two. "I was knitting and lost track of the time. I wasn't playing with swords or playing hide and seek by myself like _some_ people. And _I've_ never actually missed a day at court."

Edmund muttered a few choice words under his breath about her little speech, only loud enough for his little sister to hear, and Lucy giggled, then quickly covered her mouth with her hands when Susan turned and glared at them.

The badger raised an eyebrow. "A worthy pursuit," he said sarcastically. "Now get in there before the High King comes out here and turns me into a hat."

"You know, he's never actually done that," Lucy's lips twitched into a smile at the threat Peter had long ago leveled at the beavers.

"I prefer not to take my chances," the badger responded coolly, pushing open the side door to the room of the four thrones and ushering them through.

The court fell silent as they entered, which was quite a feat for the few hundred people standing there and the couple hundred more standing in a long line just outside the palace, waiting to voice their complaints. Peter sat up a little straighter in his throne, glowering at them.

The herald, a cheetah, shook himself and shouted out as they headed towards their thrones, "King Edmund and the Queens!"

"You're late," Peter accused under his breath as the three siblings quickly walked over to their respective thrones and sat down in them. At least they were all wearing their crowns. He expected Lucy and Edmund to pull something like this, but Susan? She was supposed to be the responsible one, and he had been in here for half an hour by himself.

"Sorry," Susan apologized for all of them. Peter cast her a glance that said they would all be discussing this later and turned back to the people, motioning for the next Narnian to come up.

"Your Majesties," a centaur came forward, and immediately had Peter, Edmund, and Susan's full attention. The youngest Queen tried to follow suit, but then one of her dryads came forward and handed her a drink of cool lemonade.

"The centaurs living in the Western Wood have begun to run out of suitable homes for our growing population. There are not enough caves there, and not enough of us can volunteer to move to a different settlement, seeing as the closest one is halfway across Narnia."

Peter and Susan asked the centaur some more questions about their settlement and the conditions in the Western Wood before turning to Edmund.

Edmund took a deep breath. The Western Wood was his domain, after all. His brow furrowed in thought and half a minute passed before he suggested that a certain number of the centaurs branch off into their own settlement, close to the Western Wood but outside of it. The centaur got their blessing and left, bowing as he left to all four monarchs, though only the three had actually helped him.

The next was a dispute between a black dwarf and a red dwarf. The different dwarfish sects were always at odds with each other, and this time was no different. The black dwarves had trespassed onto the land of the red dwarves and stolen some of their finest axes. The red dwarves wanted the axes back, but the black dwarves insisted they hadn't been the ones to steal them, if the axes had been stolen at all.

Edmund had heard part of what the dwarves was saying and had actually come up with an idea to help, about to voice it until Lucy leaned over Susan and childishly threw a wad of cloth at Edmund, trying to get his attention. He ground his teeth and turned to her. She started gesticulating and mouthing things at him, but he couldn't make hide or tail of what she was trying to say.

Peter shot Edmund a furious look and the boy, looking properly chastised, turned away from Lucy and towards the next creature, an owl who talked about the lack of edible mice to be eaten. Eating talking mice, as most mice of Narnia had become talking mice after the incident at the Stone Table, had become illegal, but not all mice could talk, and those that couldn't were still prey to the owls, but were quickly becoming extinct.

As the owl continued to express the owls' need for more mice, the two wide doors to the entrance of the throne room suddenly flew open and a minotaur emerged from the long line of Narnian creatures waiting outside, cradling something wrapped in brown cloth, and rather large, in his arms. He pushed his way through the crowd in the throne room and they parted before him as his horns came down until he was standing before the thrones.

Edmund cringed involuntarily at the sight of the minotaur. He knew that all the creatures of Narnia were very loyal to the Kings and Queens now, and he knew that they wouldn't hurt him, but minotaurs and wolves still put Edmund on edge when he had to come into contact with them.

The minotaur rushed to the front of the room with the large bundle in his arms and deposited at the feet of the High King without a word. Peter stared at it dubiously, still covered by cloth. It was shaped strangely, and he couldn't make out what it was supposed to be. The minotaur stepped back and crossed his arms, glaring from Peter to Edmund and ignoring the two queens altogether. Edmund flinched under the Minotaur's gaze and turned his attention on the bundle.

Oreius took a step forward, hand on the hilt of his sword. "You are to wait in line like everyone else, minotaur," he snapped.

The sight of Oreius was enough to make Edmund cow in submission, but it did not seem to have the same effect on the minotaur, who squared his shoulders and turned back to the High King. "I think when their Majesties hear what I have to say, that will matter very little."

Peter cast the owl an apologetic glance. "Very well. Speak."

The owl ruffled its feathers and flew up to perch on one of the unlit torches hanging from the wall but stayed silent as the minotaur began his tale.

"I was coming here for a different reason, but that reason seems of little importance now." Edmund swallowed at this news. "I was nearly here when I found that," he gestured towards the bundle at Peter's feet, "in the woods behind Cair. I've no idea how it got there, but I was drawn to it, like a moth to the flame, and the moment I found it, I realized why."

Peter's brows furrowed. Unable to hold back his curiosity any longer, he leaned down and pulled the brown cloth off the bundle lying beneath. He gasped and, with shaking hands, tossed aside the cloth so that everyone else could see. Gasps and shouts filled the room, and Oreius struggled to quiet them all.

Edmund felt the air rush out of him as if he'd been punched in the stomach and felt a jolt of pain through his abdomen. Strange; that scar hadn't hurt in five years. He brought a hand up to his stomach and touched the small, nearly invisible scar that was left, even after Lucy's healing cordial had worked its magic, through his shirt. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't speak. Black spots started to emerge in his vision and he felt sweat break out on his forehead.

To think he'd been foolish enough to believe that the White Witch could be gone forever. He would have laughed if he wasn't so terrified.

The stone statue stood ominously before them all, a boy kneeling, head down, clutching at his stomach, an expression of such pain on his features that Edmund cringed just looking at him. He looked young, no older than twelve, long hair cut in the Calormen style and wearing clothes that looked rather plain. These were the only things that distinguished him as Calormene through the stone. Otherwise, Edmund might have thought he was himself. He looked eerily similar to the way Edmund had when the Witch had stabbed him during the Battle of Beruna.

Lucy stood up, horrified, with wide eyes, and took a few tentative steps towards the stone statue, ignoring the shouting going on all around her. Peter got down from his throne and squatted in front of the statue, examining it to see that it was real.

Susan blinked a few times at the statue before glancing at her younger brother to make sure he was all right. She was glad she did. No one else seemed to have remembered Edmund at the moment.

Edmund was green, and for a moment Susan was afraid he was going to be sick. His eyes were pinched shut and he was clutching at his stomach. He didn't seem aware of anything going on around him.

Standing up, Susan rushed over to him and knelt in front of her little brother, taking his other hand in hers and clutching it tightly.

"Ed?" she whispered, reaching up and checking his forehead. She brought her hand away wet with sweat. "Edmund!"

His eyes shot open and for a moment, raw fear stared back at her before he swallowed his emotions and hid them behind those all too serious eyes. "I'm fine," he said, sitting up and letting go of her hand. "It's just a bit hot in here."

Susan didn't believe him for an instant, but before she could say anything, Peter was shouting for everyone to be quiet. The throne room slowly quieted and Peter stood from his place in front of the statue.

"It appears to be stone, and...real, not art. Or once was," Peter amended, and Edmund rolled his eyes. Obviously.

"What does this mean?" "She's back!" "The White Witch!" "Aslan, no!" "How is that possible?" "This could only be done with the White Witch's wand!"

Peter raised his hands to quiet the Narnians again, and they all turned back to him with wide, frightened eyes, hoping that he would have the answers to all of their questions.

"We don't know that this was done recently," Peter insisted. "This could have been done before...during the reign of the Witch, and it was simply never awoken by Aslan."

"No Calormen people ever entered Narnia before we started ruling, Peter," Edmund muttered softly, but Peter pretended not to hear him.

The Narnians mulled this over for a moment, and then one of them, a dwarf, came forward. "Aslan promised he rescued everyone who had been turned to stone," he said glumly. "He would know."

Peter sighed, not sure how to respond to that. Then, "Where did you say you found this?" he asked the minotaur.

The minotaur blinked. "In the woods just behind this palace, Your Majesty," he replied.

"Do you think you could guide Oreius and some of his dogs there?" Peter asked, unable to keep his eyes off the stone statue. He couldn't help thinking how much the boy resembled Edmund when the Witch had stabbed him.

Inwardly wincing, he glanced at his younger siblings to see Susan sitting on the arm of Edmund's throne, her arms wrapped around him, and Edmund looking horrible. Lucy was still standing in front of her own throne, eyes wide as she stared at the statue. Her healing cordial was in her hands, but she needn't have bothered. The boy was obviously dead before he had been turned to stone, and the only one who could bring him now back was Aslan.

How was this possible? He had seen Aslan kill the witch himself, had watched as Aslan turned from her and said, "It is done." How could she have done this if she were dead?

"Yes, Your Majesty." Peter whipped back around.

"Good. Oreius, take some of your best hunting dogs and follow this minotaur. I want to know how this statue got there. Track whoever put it there and find them," he could not bring himself to say the White Witch, even though everyone knew she was the only one who could have, "before they do any more damage."

Oreius nodded, bowing and letting out a low whistle for his wolves. They appeared at once, and Edmund had to force himself not to pull his feet up to his chest because he knew that would only aggravate his stomach more. The minotaur guided the centaur and wolves out of the palace, and the rest of the Narnians watched in silence until they were gone.

"What about the rest of us?" the owl asked, talking for the first time since it had been blown off by the Minotaur's arrival.

Peter's face scared the occupants of the throne room. He wished the minotaur had the sense not to bring the statue when half of Narnia was in the palace, looking on. The defeat in his eyes scared even Lucy. "Go to your homes and don't leave them unless it's an emergency. Tell everyone else to do the same."

He turned around just in time to see Edmund collapse, falling out of his throne and hitting the ground with a loud thump. Susan screamed.

Please leave your thoughts!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

A/N: Thank you to NarniaGuardian for the reviews! And thank you to everyone else who has reviewed, followed, and faved this story. I'm so sorry it took me so long to update. I've been really sick, so I haven't been able to update until now.

"Edmund!" Peter shouted, and for the moment, the Witch, the stone statue, and the Narnians were forgotten as he rushed to his brother.

Peter squatted down beside him, roughly pushing Susan aside and feeling a sting of guilt. She was only trying to help. But he had no time for that now. He would apologize to her later. He pressed a hand against Edmund's skin, feeling his forehead and finding it terribly hot. He ran a hand through Edmund's hair and called for Lucy, who quickly came over to put her cordial to good use. Peter tipped Edmund's head up as Lucy poured a drop down Edmund's parched throat. There was silence as the Throne Room seemed to hold its breath.

Then Edmund let out a small gasp and opened his eyes. The cheers of the creatures in the room were lost on Peter. The green had disappeared from Edmund's face, and he was no longer clutching his stomach in pain, but the fever had not left his eyes and his neck was still hot to Peter's touch. Peter didn't understand. What had been wrong with his brother?

Worried, Peter helped his brother to stand up, keeping a gentle hand at his back to steady him. Susan took Edmund's arm and helped him, as well.

"Are you all right?" Peter demanded. He brushed the hair out of Edmund's eyes and the boy grimaced, pulling away a little.

"Yes. I-I think so," Edmund answered. "I don't know what-," his legs collapsed under him and his two older siblings were the only things holding him up now. He stared at his brother in alarm.

"Perhaps you ought to go to your room, Ed." He debated whether or not he should go with his little brother, but knew that the people would want an explanation and it was his duty to find one. And if this really was the White Witch, they needed to find out because she would undoubtedly come after Edmund for revenge. "Lucy, why don't you take him up there?"

"I'm fine, Peter," Edmund insisted, but it took all of Lucy's strength to half-lead, half-carry him out of the room. Peter motioned for a cougar to follow them just in case and turned back to the problem at hand-the stone statue. Aslan, the boy looked like Edmund.

An image of Edmund falling to the White Witch's sword during the Battle of Beruna filled his mind and he cringed. All too much like Edmund.

ǁ

"How is this possible?" Peter demanded, pacing back in forth in front of his advisers: Tumnus, Mr. Beaver, the Fox, two centaurs, and a few others. Oreius was usually here, but he was gone with the minotaur still.

There was a healer looking after Edmund. Lucy was with him as well, interested in the healing arts and wanting to learn all she could, and also staying by her brother's side. She'd wanted to come to the meeting, but Peter insisted she stay with her brother. He would not feel comfortable leaving his brother without at least one of them by his side and the White Witch impossibly on the prowl.

Susan would not be so easily put off. "I want to know how this happened as much as you do, Peter," she'd told him, and, after that, there would be no arguing with her. She was sitting on her throne, the only one occupied, as Peter had refused to sit down since he'd seen the statue. The Narnians who had been occupying the room only an hour before had been removed.

The stone statue of the Calormen boy sat in front of the throne, and Peter found himself glaring at it, but it wasn't the statue he was seeing. It was Edmund, charging forward, sword raised as he ran toward the White Witch. Edmund, as the wand of the White Witch was broken by his sword. Edmund, as she turned the wand around and instead used it to run him through. None of this made sense. Even if the White Witch was somehow returned, the wand had been broken, rendered useless. She shouldn't have been able to turn anyone else into stone.

"Your Majesty?"

Peter blinked, glancing up. "Sorry?" Before the centaur could repeat whatever it was he had said, Susan spoke up.

"Could someone please remove that...thing?" she asked. Her eyes studied Peter's face, and she followed his gaze to the statue. A shudder ran through her. She very much wanted to be with Edmund right now, to make sure he was all right. She almost didn't want to know how the statue had come about.

Two hound dogs came forward and pushed the stone statue out of the room. It protested loudly as it slid across the marble floor. Of course, the person who had been turned to stone would never be protesting again. Peter watched it go in silence, until it finally disappeared down a side door.

Mr. Tumnus shakily suggested, "It doesn't mean the White Witch is back, you know." They all turned to look at him with flabbergasted expressions.

"We already covered this, Mr. Tumnus," the fox said in annoyance. "There weren't supposed to be anymore statues in Narnia after Aslan left, and he wouldn't have lied to us."

"Of course he wouldn't have," Susan interrupted, casting the fox a glare for treating Tumnus so unkindly. If Lucy were here she would have given the fox a piece of her mind."What are you thinking, Mr. Tumnus?"

Mr. Tumnus, in his nervous way, clasped his hands together and then unclasped them, but continued to stare at them. "It wasn't the White Witch who possessed the power to turn creatures into stone," he said finally. "It was her wand."

Peter didn't understand where the faun was going with this. "Yes?"

"Yes, her wand," Mr. Beaver said, suddenly catching on. "It don't mean she's still alive, just that somebody else done found it."

"Impossible," the fox waved this away. "Yes, the power to turn to stone is in the wand, but only someone with great magic can actually use it. So even if it wasn't the White Witch returned, someone equally as dangerous has it. And besides, King Edmund the Just broke the wand during the Battle of Beruna, so even if someone has it, it can't do anything."

They fell silent after that, trying to absorb the thought of someone as bad as the White Witch loose in Narnia.

"What became of the White Witch's wand?" one of the centaurs asked.

Peter flushed a little. "We don't really know. She had it with her during the Great Battle, and then Aslan defeated her. No one reported having found it, and it just disappeared. I guess we all just assumed it was destroyed with her. No one thought it was a threat anymore, anyways. It would have just been like any other weapon on the battle field." He would never assume again, he told himself.

He shivered suddenly as a gust of cold air seemed to enter the throne room, then blinked at that. It was the middle of the hottest season of the year; how was he this cold? He glanced at Susan and saw her shivering, and then they locked eyes and he saw the fear in hers, imagining that it mirrored his own.

"What are we going to do?" the Fox asked, all of his breath seeming to leave him in that sentence. His breath clouded in the air in front of him, and he stared at it in shock. It couldn't be so cold in the middle of summer that he could see his breath. Narnians were reporting drought to the South because it was so hot this year.

At the same time, Susan whispered, "Edmund," she stood stock still, frozen, and for a horrifying moment, Peter watched her, as though afraid the White Witch had turned her to stone already.

He turned towards the door, needing to go and check on his little brother, but a centaur came forward and put a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged him off and turned around, a rather annoyed expression on his face, but then he saw what the centaur was pointing at. The council and the two oldest Narnian monarchs followed his gaze.

Oreius had returned. Four of the eight wolves that had gone with him were following behind, their tails drooping, panting heavily. The minotaur was not with them. He had been replaced by a hag, and the very sight of her made Peter stiffen. The hags were supposed to have gone into the North, banished from Narnia because they did not repent of their evil acts, nor of their loyalty to the White Witch. He hadn't seen one in five years, and the very sight of the disgusting, greasy creature in front of him dredged up memories he did not want to relive.

The hag's hands were tied in front of her, and Oreius pushed her off his back. She fell to the ground in front of the council, eying them with fury in her eyes. Oreius took his place against the wall with the other centaurs, most of whom were his sons."You will rue the day you touched me, fools," she snapped, her voice having a strangely deep, cracking quality to it.

One of the centaurs stepped forward threateningly, but Peter held up a hand and he took his place against the wall once more.

"How came you to be here?" he asked the hag, stepping forward until he could smell her rancid breath.

The hag laughed and did not answer him. Irritated, he turned to Oreius for information.

"We followed the minotaur, as you ordered, my liege. He led us to the place where the stone statue was put and the wolves tracked the smell of hag from the area. We followed until we came upon this foul creature. She killed four of our wolves before we could capture her. The minotaur fled into the night and we did not see where he went. He has betrayed us, and was likely paid to bring the statue here. She will say nothing."

"She will," the Fox snapped, glowering at her.

The hag ignored them all as they talked, turned eyes on the wolves who had tracked her. "Traitors! Do you forget so easily your vow to Her Majesty?"

The wolves growled at her, aware of their fallen comrades at her hands.

"The minotaur fled?" Peter questioned. "But why-?" he turned to the hag once more. "Tell us what you know."

The hag stared up at him, and then held up her bound hands with an impish grin. Sighing, Peter pulled out a knife and knelt in front of her. His council seemed to step forward as one, and he could hear the collective intake of breath.

"Peter," Susan said in warning.

Peter cut loose the hag's hands and she rubbed her wrists. He stood, knife still in his hands, waiting.

Finally, she spoke. "I know only this. That Jadis, the White Queen, has returned, and that you would be wise to watch your brother's back, for she would have his blood. I know only that she will not fail, and that my lady will win back Narnia and overturn it in fire and water. I know only that not even Aslan can defeat her power, and she is come to take back what is hers." The hag's mouth clamped shut.

Peter found himself touching Wolf's Bane, causing Oreius' wolves to cringe and whimper. He quickly removed his hand. "And how do you know these things?"

The hag grinned. "I brought the stone statue to you for fair warning. Isn't that enough?"

"Where is she?" Oreius demanded of the hag. "Where is the Witch hiding?" The hag only grinned at him.

"Did you actually see the White Witch?" Susan demanded, though her voice was soft and quiet, putting emphasis on the word _see._

The hag turned dark eyes on her. "With my own eyes."

Peter eyed the hag, assessing her. He tried not to let the fear seep into his voice when he spoke. "Put this hag in the prison, wolves. Oreius, send out messengers to the people that they should be on the lookout for hags, a minotaur, and the wand. And I want a guard on each of my siblings at all times. The Witch has somehow returned, and she will be out to get them."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Cliffie! Sort of...Anyways, please R+R!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I hear they're making a new Narnia movie for the Silver Chair! Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and faves!

Disclaimer: Narnia is mine! No...it actually isn't...Surprised?

Chapter 4

Lucy put her arm under Edmund's shoulders and proceeded to drag him up to his room. He wasn't very heavy for his age, but he felt like a deadweight in her arms. She turned to the cougar, who quickly attempted to help by leaning against the young king. They eventually made it to Edmund's room and she deposited him quickly onto his bed. He fell into the feather bed, unconscious and she sat down beside him.

Edmund's room was smaller than the rooms of his siblings, but he preferred it this way. He had picked out this room the week of their coronation, and hadn't moved from it since, although Lucy and Susan chose different rooms every year for a change of scenery. The room was a dark blue, and the floor was made of cold white marble with a small rug at the foot of the bed.

Lucy glanced around. There was a desk in the far corner with papers scattered over it, an ink well and quill lying on the edge of it, looking as though they would fall at any second. A wooden wardrobe stood next to the bed, and something about that wardrobe always made Lucy feel warm inside, though she couldn't put her finger on why that was. A silver shield with a red lion on it hung on the wall, along with Edmund's sword and a few maps of the world and other such trinkets. He had a horrible definition of decoration, Susan always told him.

"Decoration does not mean hanging your toys on the wall," she could hear Susan's voice now, although the Gentle Queen had not come with her, preferring instead to stay with Peter and figure out what was going on. Lucy's lower lip jutted out into a pout, but then Edmund began thrashing and she forgot her jealousy quickly, turning worried eyes back on her brother.

"Go and get a healer!" she ordered the cougar. "Please." The cougar disappeared.

Lucy turned back to her brother. She didn't understand why the healing cordial didn't work. It did, sort of, but Edmund was still very weak and seemed almost feverish, and the healing cordial had gotten rid of fevers before. She wrapped a blanket around his thin shoulders and he shuddered with the cold air that suddenly blasted the room. She knew she should get some water for him, but she was hesitant to leave his side.

She brushed hair out of his face and sighed. "Aslan, please help us," she whispered hoarsely. If the White Witch had truly returned as she feared, they were going to need it. It had been almost a year since Aslan had crossed the Eastern Sea out of Narnia, and though Lucy did not doubt for an instant that he would return, she knew that Peter and Susan did and were discouraged by it. And now, with this happening...

She turned back to Edmund. She knew he still had nightmares about the White Witch, that he would wake up in the dead of night shaking and sweating and would run to Susan's room to be comforted. Sometimes he even went to Peter, but never to Lucy, so she could only imagine how bad the nightmares were. She had no idea what the knowledge of the White Witch's return might do to him. Unlike the others, he seemed to harbor no doubts about the stone statue. If it was there, the Witch had returned. In his mind, there was no other explanation.

Edmund let out a moan. Lucy brushed his forehead, worried. The healer seemed to be taking a long time to get there. Her brother groaned and his eyes shot open. He struggled to sit up and Lucy put up a hand to steady him.

"Wha-?" Edmund felt a pain in the back of his head. He lifted a hand to it and rubbed it. Glancing around, he realized that he was in his room and that he had no knowledge of how he had gotten there.

"It's all right, Edmund," Lucy whispered. "You're all right." Her soft hands had a calming affect on his swimming head. Gently, she pushed him back down onto the bed. "You're going to be all right."

Edmund blinked at that. "Lu, what...happened?"

"You fainted, Ed," she teased, smiling. "I brought you up here and the healer's coming to have a look at you."

Edmund groaned in annoyance and embarrassment at all the attention. "I didn't faint, Lu, I just got a bit tired, is all. I don't faint."

Lucy grinned. "Of course not, Ed."

"Why did you send for a healer? I'm perfectly fine," Edmund mumbled, feeling that swimming sensation again. Maybe not so fine as he was letting on, he thought with a wince.

Lucy just smiled and ran her hand over his forehead, not responding. The door opened then and a dryad entered, the cougar following behind nervously. It stopped in the doorway of Edmund's chambers to guard them, as was his usual duty, as the dryad came forward and knelt on the bed in front of Edmund. She turned questioning eyes on Lucy as she examined her young charge.

"He fainted during court today," Lucy explained, ignoring Edmund as he rolled his eyes, not sure if she could bare to mention all the rest of it. The stone statue, the minotaur, the fact that the healing cordial hadn't worked. The dryad was likely one of the only Narnian creatures who didn't know about it all yet, she supposed.

The dryad raised a flowery eyebrow. "Have you used the cordial yet, Your Highness?" she asked. She was a kindly pink creature and one of Lucy's closest friends amongst the healers. Lucy went down to see the healers often to study their work, so she knew most of them by name. This one was name Naya, and her tree was tall and old.

Lucy nodded.

"There. You see? She's already used the cordial and it heals any injury. I'm fine," Edmund insisted, struggling to sit up again only to be not-so-gently shoved back down again by Lucy and the dryad. "And I didn't faint, I just fell unconscious for a few seconds. There's really nothing to be worried about." He at least tried to untangle himself from the blankets Lucy had cocooned around him.

"Try to be still, Your Highness," the dryad ordered with her sweet voice, and Edmund slowly quieted and allowed the healer to examine him. "Go and fetch some water and a towel, my lady," the dryad said without looking up. Lucy scurried away.

The moment she was gone, the dryad turned irritated eyes on the Just King. "You are not as well as you are letting on, my lord. Tell me how you feel, and truthfully, this time."

Edmund sighed. "My head hurts," he finally admitted after much consideration. He really didn't feel that bad, and he was annoyed at how weak he was, to have been moved to sickness at the news of Her return, and annoyed that he hadn't been able to go to the council meeting to help decide what they were going to do about it.

"And?" the dryad demanded, lifting his head and checking it for injuries. She frowned when she found none and put his head back down on the bed. He noticed her expression but said nothing about it.

"I feel a bit dizzy and like I'm having summer fever. I might be a bit nauseous. Nothing more," Edmund said adamantly, knowing his words were useless on Naya's ears. "It's really not that bad; I've been through much worse."

Lucy returned then with the water and the towels, before the dryad could say anything. She took them without thanking the Valiant Queen, who sat down on the bed once more and laid Edmund's head in her lap, running her hands through his dark hair.

"Try to drink this," Lucy whispered to him, lifting the tall glass of crystalline water to his lips. He complied and she made him drink the entire glass before she took it away again. Then she mopped up his sweat with one of the towels.

The dryad finally spoke up again. "Valiant Queen, I would see you in the hallway. King Edmund, if you so much as move from the bed I will bring back rope and tie you down." Naya had treated his injuries many times before, and though most of them were more serious than this, she knew that they should tread carefully.

Lucy glanced up quizzically, not wanting to leave Edmund's side. The dryad motioned her come again, and Lucy stood, kissing Edmund's forehead and turning to follow Naya out into the hallway. Edmund's voice stopped her.

"Lucy?" she turned back to him. "Could you open the window, please?" The fact that he was asking her and not doing it himself showed that either he was afraid of Naya's threat, as she had tied him down once before when he was injured, or he really was weak from this fast fever.

Lucy took a deep breath and let it out slowly, going over to the window above the head of Edmund's bed and opening it, smiling at the cool summer air that drifted into the room. Then she left the room, finding Naya in the hall with the cougar standing guard already. Naya quickly shut the door, her face drawn.

"What is it?" Lucy asked, apprehension on her pretty face. "Is something terribly wrong?"

The dryad shook her head. "My lady, he thinks that this is some bout of summer fever."

"Perhaps it is. He didn't eat much this morning," Lucy reflected, remembering the way he had picked at his food. Of course, that was nothing to go on. Edmund always was a light eater.

"I don't think so," Naya said.

Lucy's eyes widened. "You think it something more than that?"

Naya sighed. "The healing cordial should have worked on a simple fever, my lady. And though it does match the symptoms, the fever never comes on this fast. No, something else is at work here. What happened before he fainted?"

Lucy bit her lip, remembering the days events and becoming horribly worried.

ǁ

The White Witch had returned. The news spread throughout Narnia so quickly that almost all the talking creatures knew about it by nightfall. It would have been impossible to contain. She was back, she had turned a Calormen to stone, and that meant the wand was back, too. A hag had even seen her. Narnia was in turmoil. Aslan had abandoned them.

But where was she? No one else had seen her. No one seemed to know where she was hiding. It was rumored that she had taken up residence in the Shuddering Woods, that she was living underground somewhere, that she had crossed the Eastern Sea to fight to the death with the Emperor-over-the-Sea, that she had gone North to the land of the giants, that she had gone to Calormene and made allies with the Tisroc.

The wolf who had brought the Calormen boy to the cave in the North, the one responsible for bringing back the Witch, knew differently. The Witch hadn't done any of these things. She was just...sitting.

She was still in the very same cave she had been revived in, but now she sat in a throne she had carved for herself made of stone. The werewolf stood behind her, hood over his ugly, mangy head. The Witch hadn't moved since the hag had left.

"Wolf," she said suddenly, and wolf jumped up from his place at the back of the cave, hackles raised in apprehension but willing to be of service. She was still holding her wand, and it put him on edge. Her hands slowly caressed the wand as he slunk forward.

"Your Majesty," he bowed.

"Why hasn't the hag returned?" she demanded, her voice as icy as her reputation. Piercing eyes studied him. She still seemed to tower over everyone and everything, even sitting down. Her wicked beauty seemed ten times more potent now than it had five years ago.

"Your Majesty, I...I..." the wolf had only left the cave once, to rally up some of the Queen's loyal supporters and tell them to meet in three days, per the Witch's instructions. This had been before the hag had laughed, so he didn't understand why the Queen could possibly think he knew where she was.

The Queen's eyes grew dark, and she slowly lifted the wand. "Well?" she demanded, her voice soft but deadly. The wolf cowed. "Go and find her, Wolf!"

The wolf bowed low. "Yes, Your Majesty," he said quickly, eager to get out of the cave. He scampered away, past the two ogres who stood as guard at the entrance of the cave, past the observing eyes of the hawks perched in trees that had always remained loyal to Her Majesty, and into the forest, cursing that hag for not yet having returned.

The Witch watched in silence until he left, and then turned to the werewolf. "It seems the Captain of my Police chose fools for his soldiers," she observed coldly. "I thought he was smarter than that."

The werewolf swallowed hard. "There are few wolves who have stayed loyal to the cause over the years, Your Majesty, falling to the offer of amnesty from the High King."

It was the wrong thing to say. "High King?" her voice was shrill. "High King? That boy who sits upon Cair Paravel in throne is naught more than a child picked to be the lion's puppet."

Despite her tone, the werewolf noticed that she would not even say the lion's name. He had heard that she still cringed at the mention of that name, that it was like death to her ears. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Now," the witch's tone became sickly sweet once more, and her hands turned back to her wand, running along it as if it were her long-lost lover. "Tell me more of this Just King." She laughed and the werewolf, despite his courage before the Calormen boy, couldn't help but shudder. "Is that supposed to be a joke? Edmund, Just King?"

"It is the title that As-the lion gave him, Your Majesty."

The Queen shook her head. "Fools, all of them. I should have made sure he was dead. It is a mistake I will not repeat."

The werewolf nodded. "Very wise, Your Majesty."

"But his siblings? They harbor no ill-will towards the young traitor?" she sounded surprised.

"None, Your Majesty, so far as anyone can tell. He is well-liked by the people, also, his treachery forgotten, for his wisdom in their private disputes, which they bring before him once a month."

The Queen shook her head at this. "I will make them loathe his very being before the end," she said coldly. "And when they do, they shall come running back to me, their Queen, and beg for my mercy."

The werewolf did not have time to respond to this before they were interrupted by a crow which came flying into the cave. It landed on the ground before the Witch's throne.

"Your Majesty, there is word from the wolf you sent you to search for the hag," the crow said.

The Queen glanced at the crow with suspicious eyes. "So soon?"

"The hag has been taken captive by the usurpers in Cair Paravel, to be executed for her role in following you, My Queen. She was captured soon after the stone statue was 'discovered.'"

The White Witch nodded, as though she had been expecting this. "She will be silent as to what she knows. Hags are very...loyal. And the others? My faithful are meeting there?"

The crow chirped in response. "The giants are coming down from the North in droves, and the tree spirits that follow you are gathering everyone they can. Ogres, wild dogs, wolves that were not turned, black dwarves, ravens, minotaurs, and anyone else that can be trusted."

"Good," she praised the crow, though she did not at all sound pleased. "The hag has been taken. We must assume that, despite her loyalty, they will be able to extract some bit of information from her." She stood finally, her legs now strong after having to wait so long for her body to function properly once more after being dead, and turned to the werewolf. "Ready the warriors. We leave at dawn."

The werewolf nodded. He did not ask what was his plaguing him at the crow's news: would they make no attempt to rescue the hag? Was she to die and the Queen would do nothing to stop it? Was this how she rewarded her faithful?

ǁ

Once the meeting was over and the hag properly locked away, Peter decided it was time to go and check on Edmund and Lucy. Susan wanted to come, but had been stopped by Oreius, who said he needed to speak with her about important matters of state that could not be left alone, even in such a time.

Peter left before Oreius could saddle him with something important to do, needing to check on Edmund, needing to know that his little brother was all right even with the Witch's return. He learned from a sparrow that the two youngest monarchs were in Edmund's room, and that a healer was looking after him. Fearing the worst, Peter ran to Edmund's room and found the cougar waiting outside.

"What's going on?" he asked the cougar, panting, afraid to go in there and see now that he was here and could hear nothing on the other side of the door.

The cougar merely shifted uncomfortably.

Taking this as a sign of the worst, Peter tensed his shoulders and stepped inside, shutting the door silently behind him and only looking up when he came to the foot of the bed.

Lucy was sitting with her legs draped over the side of the ornate bed, her arms wrapped around her brother's shoulders. A tree spirit was cocooning Edmund in so many blankets that Peter could just barely make out his brother's head of raven hair.

It wasn't until Peter saw the blankets and the blue tint to Edmund's pale skin that he felt the burst of cold air upon entering Edmund's room, and shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. A roaring fire sat in the hearth, and Lucy was dabbing the only part of Edmund's skin that was exposed-his face and neck-with warm water. The window had been shut.

The other tree spirit, moving about more tiredly, glanced up when Peter entered. She was the only one to see him. "High King Peter," she monotoned, and he held up a hand to stop her, walking wordlessly to his brother's side and sitting on the bed next to him.

"He's freezing and nothing we do seems to be able to warm him," the dryad whispered in his ear as he passed her. He nodded to signify he'd heard.

"Ed?" he took his brother's hand.

Edmund's eyes opened slowly, and he glanced around the room before finally resting on Peter. "Pete. Tell these girls I'm fine. They won't stop fussing over me."

Peter laughed but quickly turned it into a frown at the dryads' fierce looks. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," came his younger brother's tired reply, and he sounded so young. Then, "Cold." He shivered again as if to prove a point. His eyes slowly slid shut and he lay there, asleep. Peter brushed the hair out of his eyes and looked up.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked the older dryad as she sighed.

She shook. "We're not entirely sure. We thought it was just a summer fever, but then Her Highness-," she glanced at Lucy- "and I went out into the hallway and she told me about the stone statue today and when we came back in, he was screaming and complaining of how freezing it is in here. He hasn't let up since, despite the fire and the blankets. I worry-," she stopped abruptly, her gaze turning on Lucy. The younger girl pretended not to notice.

"Yes?" Peter demanded, desperate for answers. "You worry?"

The dryad hesitated a moment, and then voiced her fears. "I worry that this has something to do with the White Witch's return."

"You think she's cast a spell on him?" Lucy asked, tightening her grip on her brother as if that alone could shield him from the witch. Peter bit his lip.

"Perhaps. But not necessarily. It may have to do with...with the wand. She stabbed him during the Battle of Beruna."

"I healed him with the cordial, and he hasn't complained of it since," Lucy argued, worry creasing her forehead.

"Yes," the dryad said carefully, "but he was holding his stomach in the throne room and he told me he felt sick earlier. I don't know. Perhaps it is ill-founded, but I find it suspicious that he falls ill the day we hear of the Witch's return."

Peter nodded, wrapping his arms around Edmund's shoulders. It made sense, but the thought of that Witch harming his little brother any more than she already had made him ball his hands into fists and wish he could kill her, without Aslan's help this time. Hadn't she already hurt Edmund enough? Hadn't she already hurt Narnia enough? Where was Aslan?

That last thought popped up before he could stop it and he instantly felt ashamed. Lucy would never doubt Aslan, not for a single moment, yet more and more he found himself wondering when Aslan would come back, why he was taking so long to return to them.

"I'm afraid there is nothing more I can do," the dryad said softly, watching the tender display of affection between the siblings. "Just try to keep him warm, and when he awakens, make him drink this. It will help with the pain." She handed Lucy a small brown mug filled to the brim with dark liquid. With one last sympathetic glance in the Just King's direction, she disappeared out the door, the younger dryad following without a word.

Once the tree spirits were gone, Lucy and Peter got into the bed and laid down on both sides of Edmund to try and keep him warm, Lucy setting the mug down on the small table beside the bed. They sat in silence there for a while, the three siblings, Edmund occasionally shivering and the two others trying desperately to warm him up.

"Peter?" Lucy whispered, her voice hoarse. He glanced up and saw the tear tracks down her cherub-like cheeks and inwardly cursed the White Witch once more. "Ed's going to be all right, isn't he?"

Peter glanced down at his little brother, buried beneath the blankets but seemingly unaffected by them. "Of course he is, Lu." He wanted desperately to believe his own words.

Lucy nodded. "Where is Susan?" she asked after a moment of silence.

Before Peter could answer, the door opened and the young lady in question barged in, her bow slung over her shoulder, ignoring the small gasp from the Valiant Queen. "I'm here," she announced herself, coming forward and standing in front of the bed, concern etched across her features. "How is he? I came as soon as I could get away."

Peter's forehead crinkled at this and he cast her a questioning look. "Later," she mouthed, and then sat down on the now nearly full bed and took Edmund's hand, encased in warm blankets. "Oh, Ed."

Their brother moaned at these words, and then nestled further into Peter's shoulder. Peter reached up and ran a hand through his little brother's hair and glanced up to find the two queens watching with eyes full of tears.

"I don't understand," Susan whispered, not wanting to wake her brother. A little of the Finchley accent that had, over time, been replaced with pure Narnian, slipped back into her voice, and for a moment, Peter no longer saw a Queen before him, but a scared little girl begging him to "just listen."

"It'll be all right," Lucy reassured, repeating Peter's earlier promise. "She can't win. She's already been defeated. Aslan will come back like he always does when Narnia is in trouble."

The two older siblings exchanged glances. Unfortunately, Lucy caught the look. "He will," she insisted. "We just have to trust him."

R+R please!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and faves! Keep 'em coming!

Disclaimer: No. I don't own Narnia.

_She stood over him, surrounded by her minions, left hand hanging by her side, right hand clenching the wand. Her dark eyes glowered down at him, and for a moment, his breath seemed to leave his body. He couldn't remember whatever had possessed him to follow her, to turn against his siblings for her. _

_It was night time, a night dark as pitch, the only light coming from her, radiating off her. It was not a comforting light, but a blinding white light that made Edmund cringe and curl in further on himself._

"_Foolish boy," she hissed, her voice sounding like the hissing of a snake and without the cold anger he was used to. "Did you think you were safe from me? Did you honestly think you would ever be free of me after what you did?"_

_His body was covered in bruises and cuts, but it wasn't the wounds that hurt him. It was the accusation in her voice, the reminder of what he was._

"_Little traitor," she smirked at him, running her fingers along the wand in ecstasy, getting ready to use it on him without remorse. _

"_No," Edmund whispered stubbornly. "No." his voice came out squeaky and small and he hated himself for it. In the back of his mind, an even smaller voice tried to reassure him. Aslan took care of this. He died for you, but he came back to life. Peter and Susan and Lucy forgave you. Narnia forgave you. They've all forgotten. You know this._

"_What was that?" the Witch taunted. _

"_Not...a traitor any more." It was difficult to get the words out. He ground his teeth, remembering who had last been on the stone table. "Aslan..."_

"_Don't you remember, boy? Aslan died on this table, just as you shall. And I killed him, just as I shall kill you."_

_Edmund's heart sank at her words. Still, something in the back of his mind told him she was lying, because she always lied. "No..." his voice was pleading. "Not true..."_

"_All traitors belong to me. Their blood is my property. Isn't that right, little king?"_

_And suddenly Peter stood beside her, eyes hard but determined. "True. Why can't you just do as your told, Edmund? None of this would have happened if you'd just listened to me."_

"_Peter..." Edmund groaned as something sharp pierced his side. "I'm sorry!"_

"_That's High King to you," Peter stated imperiously, and then stepped back. _

_Edmund turned wide eyes on the Witch as she lifted the wand. The world seemed to crackle and shimmer before him as she slowly brought the wand down on his unprotected chest. The creatures around began to jeer at him, and he wanted to cover his ears, but his hands were bound. _

_He looked back at the Witch who any moment now would take his life, but now she was Lucy, dressed in a long brown robe and frowning at him. He couldn't bear that. He could stand the anger, the cold death, but he couldn't bear to see Lucy looking at him like that. She'd forgiven him. She'd promised she had!_

"_Lucy," he begged, "please. I'm sorry I didn't believe you." Surely she wouldn't kill him. She was Lucy the Valiant, and she would never want to hurt him. "Please."_

"_It's what you deserve," she said softly, eying him with disappointment. He closed his eyes as the dagger pierced his side,_ and then Edmund woke up, gasping for breath. Lucy and the Witch and all the creatures had disappeared, but Peter was still there beside him, trying to calm him down, speaking softly with a hint of worry flashing in his eyes. Edmund froze, watching the older boy until he remembered that it had only been a dream.

It wasn't his usual dream. He always had the same dream, every night, and this wasn't it. What did that mean? He couldn't remember if the one he'd just had was better or worse than the usual. He began shaking and found he couldn't stop, but it wasn't from the nightmare. He was freezing. Why hadn't Peter lit the-

The fire was so high Edmund was afraid it would reach the bed and start burning the blankets. The window was shut now. There was a candle on the nightstand. It was midsummer. So why was he still so cold?

The pain in his stomach hit him suddenly, and he cringed. He felt a little dizzy at the effort it had taken to sit up, and remembered what happened earlier. The tree spirits and Lucy had been worried about him, though he couldn't imagine why. And then it had gotten so cold he could hardly think, and his hands were turning blue... It wasn't so cold anymore, but what scared him was that no one else seemed to feel it.

Peter had awoken in complete darkness, sweating and exhausted. At first he couldn't figure out what woke him, but then Edmund started thrashing again, and Peter sighed. Another nightmare.

He'd told the girls he would stay with Edmund tonight to keep an eye on him. It was somewhere around midnight, judging by the stars peeking in through the open window, and already he had fallen asleep. The girls had only left about an hour ago.

Edmund suddenly called out in his sleep, and Peter realized he could make out the words. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean for all this...please..."

Peter gritted his teeth in anger. All these years, all the nightmares, all the times he'd woken Ed up and told him that _she_ was dead, that she'd never be able to hurt him again-it had all been a lie. Either that or...well, he didn't want to think what strange conjuring had brought her back into their lives.

He'd rather not think on that, either. He had seen it happen, watched during the battle of Beruna as Aslan faced the witch, had watched with wide eyes and wished he could do it himself but knew that only Aslan had the right.

But if Aslan had killed her, how was she still alive?

He forced down the doubt and turned back to his brother. "Ed," he shook the Just King's shoulders, eliciting a moan as he tried to wake the younger boy. "Edmund," when the boy didn't wake up immediately.

Edmund groaned and Peter shook him harder. "Ed!" he all but shouted. "It's all right! Wake up!"

Edmund jerked awake, eyes wide and filled with raw fear. His body tensed, but he relaxed when he saw that it was only Peter. His hands were shaking and he hid them under the blankets so that Peter couldn't see. He was breathing heavily, watching Peter liked he was about to turn into a rabid dog.

"It wasn't real," Peter promised, the only words he could think of. "It was only a dream."

Edmund laid his head back against the pillows and closed his eyes, but Peter could tell he was still awake.

They sat there in silence for a moment, and then Edmund whispered, "Peter."

"I'm here. You're all right."

"You know what day it is," he said mournfully, as if it hurt him physically to remember.

Peter sighed, glancing at the window. It wasn't quite day yet, but that didn't matter. Edmund wouldn't be going back to sleep any time soon. "Yes, Ed, I know."

It was five years to the day since Ed had left the Beaver's house, had chosen the Witch over his siblings. This was always the worst day. The day Edmund had become a traitor, and he would never let himself forget it.

"You didn't give me your usual speech about how she's dead and will never hurt me again," Edmund muttered, sitting up in bed and pushing off the covers as he decided that sleep was useless. Every time he closed his eyes he saw _her_, eyes glinting, dagger raised above her head, and then she brought it down, down on Edmund this time, not Aslan.

"I didn't really see the point," Peter replied, feeling guilt creep in on him. He promised himself that the Witch would never come near his siblings again.

"No, I suppose not." his voice was soft, so young for his age.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Peter asked.

Edmund took a deep breath. "No." Then, "It was worse than the usual dream. Different." He clamped up then, but Peter didn't press him to continue. "Peter?"

"What is it?"

"You can go to bed now. I'll be fine," Edmund insisted, seeing the circles under his brother's eyes and cringing when he knew they were his fault. He was embarrassed that Peter had felt the need to stay here with him, like he was a child.

"Don't be silly. I'm staying right here," Peter patted his arm. Then his eyes widened. "Oh, Edmund! I was supposed to make you drink this when you woke up." He grabbed the glass of murky liquid on the nightstand and handed it over.

Edmund picked it up with shaky hands. "What is it?" he demanded suspiciously. He swirled it around the darker liquid seemed to fall to the bottom.

Peter furrowed his brow and then shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure. The tree spirits said you need to drink it. It'll help."

Edmund stared at the contents for a moment, and then lifted it to his lips. His nose wrinkled, and his stomach rebelled as the taste hit his tongue and he pulled it away. "It's disgusting!"

Peter grinned. "Well, now we know you're feeling better."

ǁ

Jadis leaned her back, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. She was not normally sentimental, as she found it a weakness, but the sight of her castle after so long of being separated from the comforting bleak fortress caused her to smile.

It was true, the old castle looked terribly rundown from here, and without the world covered in ice it seemed so plain, and the yellow meadow about it made it seem like an old relic, but the familiar sight of spires jutting into the sky and those iron gates to welcome her were enough. She could see that the courtyard was empty, but she had already known this. She would soon have it all restored. Soon, the Witch's castle would be just as threatening and magnificent as ever, and Cair Paravel would be nothing but an old relic. And she would sit in her rightful place as Queen.

Her new general, an old but wise centaur, who, despite his brothers and sisters all working for the Kings and Queens, had defected and joined her, stood beside her, staring at the castle. His loyalty had been tested because of his heritage, and the Witch had ensured he would never turn against her. His ability to see into the future would be helpful.

A small army was behind them, all the creatures that the wolf had been able to find, most of whom had gone North to the land of the giants, pawing and panting but otherwise staying silent, as the Witch had commanded. She did not want to cause trouble before the right time.

Night had fallen over Narnia before the Queen had decided that it was time to leave the caves and meet up with her followers, some old and some new, but all holding equal hatred towards the Kings and Queens of Narnia. The moon was hidden behind a cloud tonight, and for that reason, the White Witch knew it was time to go. They would not be seen traveling under cloudy darkness.

The White Witch kept her eyes closed, arms out to the sides as if she could embrace her entire castle. "Take it in, General," she said with a cold smile. "Home."

The general stared at the castle. "Will it hold everyone?"

The Witch's eyes snapped open, and she returned to her cool, normal self. "Do you doubt it?" He shook his head. "I thought not. Besides, it will not need to hold them for long. We have work to do."

She smiled. Soon enough, she would have Narnia once again, and those foolish children who had tried to usurp her would pay for what they had done. She wondered if they had liked her gift, the little stone boy. Edmund, at least, would appreciate it. Oh, she had such plans for Edmund. He would pay for what he had done. This time, she would make sure it was he who paid.

Aslan was not here to save him this time.

ǁ

Peter ran a hand through his blond locks in frustration. "No one's heard anything," he stated dumbly, for the second time in five minutes.

The eagle who had come to report furrowed the feathers on his back and frowned. "No, my liege. My sons and I have scoured the countryside, and found not one sign of the White Witch or her people. We have gone to everyone who might know."

Peter sighed, glancing at Edmund sitting across the table from him. The younger king had insisted that the drink had worked and that he was feeling better, though Peter had caught him flinching and shivering more than once since coming down to breakfast and the drink was only supposed to help with his nausea. He glanced worriedly at Susan, but she was staring at the eagle intently, purposely not meeting his eyes.

"How do we know what the hag says is true?" Lucy asked finally. "She could have made it up to scare us. This could be only a threat from the remainders of the Witch's people. Somehow they could have all-"

"Most of the Witch's people repented of their deeds and joined us, and the rest would be too cowardly to attempt something like this on their own," Edmund spoke up for the first time that morning, twirling around the pudding in front of him with his spoon nervously. He was embarrassed about what had happened last night. His guilty conscience hadn't plagued him so horribly since their coronation, nearly five years ago.

Did the others not notice how chilly it was in here? Lucy wasn't even wearing sleeves, for Aslan's sake!

He glanced at Peter, but Peter had turned back to the eagle with determination on his features. "Keep looking. None of the Witch's followers is capable of doing something like this. I need a sign...just anything."

"Sire, perhaps we should go to one of the centaurs of the Western Wood," the eagle suggested. "There are seers among them that might be able to help us."

"Then send one of your sons to do so, please," Susan said authoritatively when Peter didn't answer right away.

"Yes, my Queen." The eagle bowed and departed, climbing up to the window over looking the sea and spreading its brown wings. It flew silently, disappearing into the horizon and the rising sun.

Edmund stood up once the eagle was gone. As one, his brother and sisters seemed to explode with worry.

"Edmund, are you tired? We ought to get someone to make sure you get back to your room safely," Susan began, but Edmund brushed away her fears.

"I'm fine. I'm just...full." He started towards a door that didn't lead back to his chambers. Susan kindly did not point out that he'd hardly eaten.

"Where are you going?" Lucy asked, standing also and preparing to go after him. She had not forgotten how difficult it was to drag him to his bed.

Edmund rolled his eyes. When he was younger, he might have yearned for their concern, but it did get a bit annoying when he was sick and they all doted on him like he was a babe. It wasn't as if he were dying. It was just a summer fever.

"I'm going to see Phillip in the stables," Edmund turned around to face them. "I think I'll make it there, Lucy. I haven't seen him since...he'll be worried about me." He turned imploring eyes on Peter. "I'm feeling better. And we have more important things to do than worry about a little fever, I think."

Peter and Susan exchanged glances. "All right, Ed, you can go, but don't you dare go out riding," Peter ordered. "We don't want you over-exerting yourself or getting into any...unnecessary danger."

Edmund grinned. "Don't worry; Phillip won't let me do anything even when I've got a cold." He turned and walked out the door, leaving his siblings to finish their breakfast.

He made it down the hallway before his vision started swimming in front of him. Wincing, he laid a hand against the wall and clutched at his stomach as a stinging pain ran through him. There was no nausea this time, but he felt as though he'd been run through by a...sword.

He stumbled forward again, determined not to let some little fever turn into more than it was because he was afraid of the White Witch's return. He made it down a flight of stairs and then hesitated at the bottom as another wave of dizziness rushed through him.

Falling to his knees, Edmund rocked back and forth on his haunches, finding it difficult to breathe. "Come on, don't be such a baby!" he snapped at himself, forcing his feet back under him and started forward again.

His head was buzzing and everything seemed off; tilted to the side as he slowly walked forward, down another long, dark hallway. There were no windows, only a small torch at the beginning and end of the hall.

For a moment he was confused. Why was he here? This wasn't the stables. Then he remembered that he was going...to see...Phillip, yes, that was it. But it was so cold...

It was a wonder he made it to the end of the hallway without collapsing, but it was only after he reached the guards- a hound and a black bear-that he realized this wasn't the stables. Faltering for a moment, Edmund glanced around, trying to figure out where he was. He'd explored Cair Paravel a thousand times, and that task shouldn't be so hard.

"King Edmund," the hound spoke up, wagging its tail at the sight of him. "What brings you to the dungeons, my liege?"

Edmund blinked stupidly. The dungeons. That was where he was. He opened his mouth and his words came out wooden. "I want to interrogate the agent of the Witch, the hag."

The hound whimpered and the bear spoke up. "High King Peter has already interrogated the hag. He has commanded that no one else be allowed to see it."

Edmund swallowed, realizing what he was down here for. Suddenly his head didn't seem to be buzzing so hard, and his stomach hurt a little less. Phillip could wait. "I...I am your King and I need to see the hag. High King Peter will understand."

The hound and the bear hesitated for only a moment. Neither of them could honestly remember a time when the High King and the King had clashed over something, and neither were really sure what to do. But then they looked up at the resolute face of the young king, cold with anger, and made their decision. The High King wasn't here, and King Edmund was. Perhaps he and his brother would work it out.

"This way, my lord," the hound huffed, stepping forward into the dungeons far beneath Cair Paravel. Edmund followed in silence until they reached the hag's cell, which appeared empty in the waning light. The hound shot Edmund an apologetic glance and barked into the cell, "You have a visitor."

The hag's ugly, birdlike face was suddenly pressed up against the bars. "King Edmund," she said, cocking her head at him as the hound slowly turned back. "I was wondering when you were going to come. It's been so...unpleasant down here. I could use a bit of company."

Cliffhanger!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long! I've been really busy with school, but now that exams are over, I will be updating much faster.

Edmund blinked at the hag in the cell across from him in confusion. "I want to know how the Witch has returned," Edmund said in the voice that few people refused, the voice of a king. He was feeling much better, now. The dizziness still stung at the back of his head, but the pain was lessened.

The hag cackled, then abruptly stopped, studying him, hands clenching tightly to the bars as if she would break bars that had held giants with her hands. "Wouldn't you just?"

Edmund remembered her then, the hag from his dreams who stood at the Stone Table cackling and tying him up before the Witch arrived to finished him off. _"__Death to traitors!" _Edmund stiffened.

The hag's lips hadn't moved, but he had heard the words clearly.

"Tell me what you know," Edmund ground out, reaching for his sword in threat before realizing that it wasn't there. He'd never put it on this morning. Peter would have scolded him for his carelessness.

The hag grinned, cocking her head at him. "And what shall I have in return? Your brother is a much better negotiator."

Edmund just stared at her. "Tell me and I'll make sure Peter doesn't have you executed," he promised, knowing it would be a difficult promise to keep, but the words were out before he could stop them and he knew of nothing else that would motivate her.

"What, so I can languish in this cell for the rest of my days? You'll have to do better than that, little king. Besides, if I wanted to leave here, don't you think I would have by now?" the hag grinned at the open confusion on his face.

"I don't understand-," he began, but he got no further than that before a figure emerged in the darkness behind him and the hag began her chanting.

The hag muttered, a low, eerie sound, and the words died on Edmund's lips. He could only stare at her, shocked, as the words grew lower and louder, whirling around him, choking him. He felt as though he were being strangled with invisible hands. He tried to cry out for help from the guards, who weren't very far away, but no sound would come.

The hag's words grew louder, and then strong arms wrapped around his throat, real arms this time, the arms of a minotaur. Edmund barely had enough time to wonder what a minotaur was doing down here before everything went black.

The minotaur let go of Edmund and he fell silently to the ground, slumping forward and lying still.

"Her Majesty will reward her faithful," the minotaur intoned to the hag, repeating words the White Witch had told him, and then picked up the Just King and slung him over his shoulders. He was quite light, even for a son of Adam.

The hag smiled evilly, but as the minotaur left her in the dungeons alone, taking the boy with him, her smile slowly faded.

ǁ

Lucy went to her bed chambers after breakfast, attempting to knit like Susan had suggested. She'd wanted to help prepare for upcoming conflict, perhaps send messages to Narnians who weren't living close enough to have heard yet, but Peter had insisted she stay inside, where she was safe from the Witch. Lucy had pointed out that no one was safe from the Witch, and there really wasn't much difference where she was, inside or outside, and Peter had snapped at her to stop being such a child. A child!

Peter had gone to talk with Oreius, and Susan was...somewhere, Lucy forgot where. Susan insisted she needed to learn to sew far better, though Lucy couldn't imagine why, in such a time as this. She would much rather be with the healers, or at least practicing her knife.

Tumnus stood behind her, hand covering his lips to try and hide his smile. He was supervising the Valiant Queen, the closest thing to a guard that she would accept, even with the threat of the White Witch's return.

"Oh, it's of no use," Lucy muttered hopelessly, setting aside the shirt she was working on. At least, she thought it was supposed to be a shirt. It looked much more like a shirt before she had started.

Tumnus stepped forward. "I'm sure you'll get better at it with time," he consoled her.

"I haven't gotten better at it in the whole time I've been Queen," Lucy said sadly, her lower lip jutting out into a slight pout, but the look on Tumnus' face caused her to grin again. "You're teasing me, aren't you?" She stood up.

Tumnus laughed outright then. "I do not believe you have a future as a great seamstress, my lady," he said, once he finally managed to stop laughing.

Lucy tried to pretend like this upset her, but could hardly say it did. She was too tense about the Queen's return, too annoyed that no one would let her do anything to help. She only hoped Susan would finally see sense and stop bothering her about it once she saw the remains of the shirt. "Come on, Mr. Tumnus, let's go and find something more important to do."

Tumnus blinked, knowing well that mischievous look. "Like what, Your Highness?"

"Oh, now you know I've asked you not to call me that," Lucy admonished, linking his elbow with hers and patting it gently as she led him out of the room. She tried to think of something along the way.

Vaguely, the idea of playing hide and seek slipped into her thoughts, and she shook it out. She hadn't played hide and seek since it had led here, so long ago. Lucy had never really thought of it before, but she wondered now if there was someplace here that would lead her into a different land.

Maybe they could find it and throw the Witch inside.

They walked down the hall until they reached the great staircase. "Up or down?" Lucy asked the faun with a smile.

The faun bit his lip, thinking hard. "Well, if we go down I fear we might run into Susan, who's recruiting people to learn archery in the event that-," he blinked a few times, unable to continue.

Lucy didn't notice. Her back was turned to him, and she extracted herself from his arm. "Well, up it is, then." She started walking up the stairs, and had already climbed five before she realized that Mr. Tumnus wasn't following.

Turning slowly, she cast worried eyes on him. "Mr. Tumnus!" she cried.

Tumnus was crying unashamedly at the base of the stairs, his lower lip quivering. His hooves scuffed against the marble floor. He reached for the handkerchief that Lucy had given him all those years ago at his side before remembering he had returned it to her when Edmund fell ill.

Looking up, he found the Valiant Queen standing before him once more, holding the white hankie out to him with a sad smile. "There, there," she whispered as he grasped it in his hand, squeezing the handkerchief tightly but not using it. "Mr. Tumnus, whatever is the matter?"

Tumnus sighed, wiping at his eyes and handing the handkerchief back to Lucy before answering. "This is all my fault. The White Witch-I should have-"

"No!" Lucy cried out in horror, taking a step closer. "How is any of this your fault, Master Faun?" she said the title in an attempt to cheer him, but it only made him cry harder.

"If I had only refused to work for the Witch, hadn't tried to kidnap you-then King Edmund never would have-and then she wouldn't be-"

"You don't know that," Lucy interrupted, drying his tears with the back of her hand. "The White Witch would have turned you to stone much earlier if you had refused to..." realizing this wasn't helping, Lucy changed her tactic. "Look at me, Mr. Tumnus."

Tumnus glanced up at her with sad eyes. She gave him a hesitant smile, trying not to cry herself. _Whe__n are you coming back__, Aslan? _Unlike her siblings, Lucy had no doubt that Aslan would, indeed, return, but she was beginning to wonder how long it would take for him to do so.

"Edmund would still have betrayed us to the Witch even if you had never found me, and we have all long since forgiven him. Surely you do not think we would not forgive you. Besides, you have both redeemed yourself fully, I think. I've always thought of you as my friend." She lifted the handkerchief to his eyes once more, brushing away another tear.

Once Mr. Tumnus had properly composed himself, he smiled at her. "Thank you, Queen Lucy."

"Speaking of Edmund," Lucy spoke up, realizing she hadn't seen her brother since breakfast, "Where is he? I'd imagine he'd have left Phillip by now. It's well past noon."

Mr. Tumnus sighed. "Well, down it is then. We'll have to sneak past Susan to reach the stables. She won't be happy if she finds out you're neglecting your sewing."

Lucy grinned. "Edmund owes us one. She'll probably be too busy practicing with her bow to notice us, though. Hopefully."

They started down the stairs, giggling until they reached the bottom step onto the main floor, where they ran into Susan, wearing full battle dress with a bow slung over her shoulder. She looked surprised, but pleased, to see her younger sister, and Lucy did not like the smile on her face.

"Lucy," she said, pausing and giving her youngest sibling a strange look. "I was just coming to look for you. Do you have your knife with you? What with the Witch's return, she will most certainly come after Cair first, and we need to be prepared for anything, and I just remembered you haven't practiced in a long while. I managed to talk Peter into letting you practice with us, as long as I keep my eye on you at all times."

In an effort to change the subject, Lucy exclaimed, "I was just going to look for Edmund. He should be preparing too, you know."

Susan shook her head, reaching out and grabbing Lucy's arm to keep her from running off. "Edmund is sick, and besides, Edmund practices with his sword just about every day, young lady, whereas I haven't seen you pick up the knife Father Christmas gave you since the Battle of Beruna."

Lucy rolled her eyes. "Oh, you just haven't been paying attention. I use it more than you know." She turned pleading eyes on Tumnus for help, but the faun just scuffled his hooves and stared down at them as if they were suddenly very interesting.

"Good," Susan muttered, dragging Lucy all the way down the stairs and towards the door, exiting the castle, "then you can show me how you're getting along. And weren't you supposed to be upstairs knitting anyway?"

Lucy groaned, her thoughts of Edmund long forgotten.

ǁ

Peter rubbed his forehead as he listened to the eagle's report. The eagle had just returned from the Western Wood, where he had spoken to the seer amongst the centaurs, and had demanded to speak directly to the High King, in his council room where Peter already was, along with his centaur general.

"Then we must prepare for war," he said softly, dreading the words even as he spoke them. It was the only option.

"Now, wait a moment, Your Majesty, I understand we need to be prepared for her but," Oreius held up a hand and turned to the eagle once more. "Could you repeat that message?"

The eagle ruffled its feathers. "The centaur I spoke to, the old seer Turion, said he had seen a vision. It was of a foul creature, he told me, something of a snake or a great dog, or a mix between the two, rising into the sky like one of the stars. The foul creature then began to attack the other stars, in particular the Lady of Peace, choking her until she fell from the heavens."

Peter grimaced, turning to Orieus. "Isn't that clear enough?"

Orieus did not respond for a moment. When he finally spoke, it was to the eagle. "Did this Turion say whether this was what would be or what may be?"

The eagle shook his great head. "He did not, he only said what he saw, and that I must hurry back, for you are about to be in grave danger."

Peter's head jerked up at this news. "Has anyone discovered the whereabouts of the witch yet?" he demanded.

The eagle sighed. He glanced down at his talons, and if it was possible for feathers to blush, the eagle did so. "There are only rumors, Your Highness. No actually sighting."

"What sort of rumors?" Peter was standing now, running a hand through sandy blonde hair in worry.

The eagle glanced at Oreius. The High King had barely slept, too filled with worry, since the announcement of the Witch's return, and that lack of sleep was beginning to show. Oreius wondered briefly where the Just King was, if he was still ill from when he had collapsed. Edmund would have been able to keep Peter functioning far better than this.

"A hare said he'd seen a pack of dwarves traveling back from Archenland, and spied on them during their dinner, talking about how the Tisroc was very pleased and She would reward them. There are others who also think that the Witch has gone South, into Calormene and made an alliance with the Tisroc against Narnia. It is no secret, his distaste for the Kings and Queens."

Even in his current exhausted state, Peter waved this away. "No, the Witch would never enter into an alliance with the Tisroc; they hated each other long before we arrived in Narnia. No, she is here somewhere, nearby. The cold would not be so great if she were across a desert from us."

Even as he said the words, Peter shivered, pulling the white fur he wore closer around his shoulders. He looked up, ignoring Oreius and the rest of the council as he glanced out the window, drawn tightly shut.

It was getting colder. Summer had retreated into the frosty bite of autumn in the course of a few days, despite it still being the growing season. But it was not some strange phenomena of the weather that brought this about; no, it was still cold inside the building, with the fire raging in the hearth. Edmund had complained about it last night and that was the first time Peter noticed.

It had to be a sign of the Witch.

Peter's teeth chattered in a very un-kingly manner, but the creatures sitting around him, attempting to come to some sort of decision about all this, pretended not to notice.

And that was even more strange. Peter had not noticed the cold until today when he woke up in Edmund's bedroom. He had worn warm clothes to breakfast, and noticed that Susan did the same. It had helped then, but it wasn't helping now. Lucy had commented on it, wondering how either of them could want to wear wintery clothes in the middle of summer, barely wearing anything at all and still seeming hot.

Edmund had been shivering despite the warm clothes all through breakfast.

Oreius cleared his throat, and Peter forced himself back to the matter at hand, noting that no one else appeared to be affected by the strange wintery feeling.

"There are some who say they have seen creatures coming down from the North, creatures that have not come down into Narnia since before the Golden Age. The giants are getting restless. The trees to the north...sense evil."

"Send out your sons," Peter ordered the eagle, standing and reaching for his sword, Wolf's Bane. He pulled it out and stared at it, glinting in the brilliant light. "Find out if there is anything to these rumors about the north."

"Your Majesty," Oreius spoke up, "The Witch is probably biding her time, waiting until she is strong enough to attack. There is no use avoiding a confrontation with her, but if we were to attack now, while she is still weak, we _may_ be able to defeat her."

The High King nodded to him, forcing himself to remain calm. Without Aslan's help, Aslan, who had been the one to defeat the witch before, how would they defeat her now? "Then that must be our course of action," he said slowly, returning the sword to its sheath. "Don't announce all this to Narnia, but they already know she is here somewhere. Gather as many creatures as you can to join in our army." His expression turned solemn. "I fear it will not be enough."

Oreius bowed and strode out of the room, the eagle flying out the window once again, leaving Peter to his thoughts.

They would never be able to defeat the White Witch without Aslan, he knew this. He still remembered every aching moment of that fight with her, how hard it had been. Yes, he was a much better swordsman now, but would it be enough? Aslan had been gone so long, and Peter feared he had abandoned them, not to return again now that he thought everything was alright here.

Sighing, Peter got up. Oreius would take care of the army, gather more troops. Peter would be very busy in the next few days. He wanted to find Edmund, to check on him. If he was this cold, he could only imagine how freezing Edmund was.

He didn't dare to think of where the cold was coming from.

And they needed to talk, anyway. He hadn't even gotten a chance to talk about everything that had happened since the boy had turned to stone, and he knew how Edmund would be handling it. He would blame himself, and he would be horrified that the White Witch was back, the White Witch who had been haunting his dreams for the past five years.

Peter went to the stables to find Phillip and ask him where his little brother was now. Surely he hadn't spent the whole day with Phillip, had he? After all, Peter had forbidden him from riding. If Ed had gone riding anyway, Peter would kill him. And Phillip.

Peter hurried down the palace steps, stumbling down a few until he was outside, breathing in a merciful breath of warm air. It enveloped him, and suddenly he felt hot in the warm clothes and furs that he was wearing.

He shrugged off the fur, slinging it over a pole, and watched as Susan trained the recruits in archery.

Peter smiled. Susan was in her natural element, and he could see Lucy off to the side, still grumbling about having to be out here at all, but secretly happy that she was doing something useful. His sisters were taking the return of the Witch well, staying strong so as to impart courage to the creatures of Narnia. Other than his sisters, he didn't recognize most of the creatures out practicing.

Turning to the stables, Peter smirked at the fact that he was High King. Unlike his baby sister, he didn't have to be out here practicing in the hot sun for Susan.

Hello, when had it gotten hot out here? Just moments ago he was shivering.

He reached the stables and stepped nimbly inside, over the straw littering the ground. But even the straw was beautiful, mostly kept neat. The stalls were all open so that the horses could get out if they wished to, and the finest sugar cubes were kept in a box on the wall where the horses could easily reach them if they wished. Edmund insisted that the stables be at their finest at all times, since they housed some of the finest beasts in Narnia.

Peter thought that was mostly Phillip talking through Edmund.

There were not many talking horses who stayed in the stables, despite the fine accommodations, however. Most of them couldn't bear the thought of it. They had only allowed a rider during the fight with the Witch because they were at war, and now that Narnia had been in a time of peace-until recently-they found it an affront to their pride to have a rider.

Except for Phillip. Edmund had been a great teacher in humility to the talking horse, and when the war was over, Phillip had been a great teacher and friend for Edmund. Peter was glad they had each other, even if he was slightly jealous.

He walked to the stall that Phillip usually occupied, and, to his slight surprise, found it empty of his brother, although Phillip was reclining comfortably in it. He glanced up when the High King entered his stall.

"Majesty," he greeted. He never greeted Edmund so respectfully these days. The horse let out a sound that could have been a laugh as Peter reached up and pet him, but his eyes flashed with worry. "Have you seen King Edmund?" the horse asked. "I heard he was ill, and I've been so worried down here."

Peter's hand froze in the middle of his petting. "What? But...I thought he was down here, with you. He told us he wanted to see you this morning."

Phillip shook his mane out from under Peter's hand, which was tightening in the hair in worry. "I haven't seen him all day. In fact, I didn't see him all day yesterday, either, and I'm getting worried about that young colt."

Peter sighed, instantly feeling guilty for letting the sick boy out of his sight. "I should have made him stay with me this morning."

"Your Majesty?" Phillip asked, the worry in his eyes running through the rest of his body at those words. He stamped a hoof. "Where is Edmund?"

"I-I don't know," Peter whispered, and then ran out of the stall and then out of the stables, leaving Phillip to his worry. Phillip thought about going after him, but decided to wait until the High King actually knew something. Edmund had probably just gone off to be alone.

Peter ran until he reached Susan and Lucy, pushing aside the recruits, not caring how un-kingly he looked with dung on his shoes and sweat on his face, and the rather wild look in his eyes.

Susan was instructing a badger on how to shoot with a crossbow rather than the old-fashioned bow and arrows. The badger shot an arrow and it flew hazardously through the air, landing in the ground quite near Peter's feet. He swallowed and jumped out of the way.

Edmund would be fine. He had just forgotten to visit Phillip, had gone somewhere else instead. Everything was fine.

Peter would have believed that a year ago, but not today. Not with the White Witch on the loose somewhere.

When he reached Susan and Lucy out in the middle of the field behind Cair, he was panting for breath. The badger apologized profusely before setting down the crossbow and returning to the bow he had before. Susan sighed hopelessly.

His sisters looked up at him, surprise written on their faces. Lucy looked more than a little pleased to have some reason to get out of practicing with her knife. She tucked the blade carefully back into its sheath, although this did not escape Susan's notice, who frowned at the younger girl.

"Have you seen Edmund since breakfast?" the High King demanded when he finally slowed to a halt, not bothering to be pleasant. The other creatures stopped in their tracks, weapons and targets forgotten, turning around and listening in at the frightened tone of voice that Peter used.

Susan and Lucy exchanged glances. "I thought he was with Phillip," Susan began in a low voice so that no one else could hear, but Peter cut her off impatiently.

"Phillip hasn't seen Edmund all day. Either he had no intention of going there, or he never made it to the stables."

Susan's forehead crinkled. "I have been out here since after breakfast, and I haven't seen him."

"Neither have I," Lucy agreed, sounding worried for the first time since...well, since Peter could ever remember. Lucy never worried.

Peter sighed. "I suppose that means I'd better go and look for him," he said softly. He turned away from the girls, not wanting to admit that he had no idea where to start.

"I'll go with you," Susan suggested, handing Lucy her bow and arrows.

Lucy set these on the ground and brushed her hair behind her ears stubbornly. "I'm coming, too."

"No, you're not," Susan corrected, placing a hand on her sister's arm and glancing around at all the talking beasts watching them with worry, wondering what they were talking about. "You're staying right here, where Tumnus can keep an eye on you. We can't all run off. It would scare Narnia."

Lucy pouted, but stayed.

The two oldest monarchs of Narnia hurried back to Cair, not running so as to worry the creatures watching them, but at a brisk pace. Peter didn't trust himself to speak. First the White Witch was here, and now Edmund was missing...this all sounded eerily familiar.

"Where could he have gone?" Susan asked, not daring to voice the thoughts running through Peter's mind, thoughts of the last time Edmund had disappeared. "He wouldn't have wandered off by himself..." No, he never did that anymore.

"I'll check the lower levels of the palace, you check upstairs," Peter said, leaving no room for argument. He grabbed her arm, spinning her back towards him. "We'll find him, Su."

Susan just stared at him. She hated herself for the feeling of betrayal seeping into her heart. Edmund would never do that to them now, and she had forgiven him for doing it the first time. She hated that that was her first thought, that she gave Edmund so little of a chance at redemption. Lucy would never have thought such a thing. She didn't even think Peter would have. Then she broke free of Peter's grip and entered the palace, heading upstairs. "We'd better. But when we do, I'm gonna kill him."

Peter couldn't resist a smile as he headed downstairs.

ǁ

"Time to wake up, little king," the voice was mocking and falsely-cheerful, and surprisingly close. Edmund moaned and tried to push away the sound with a hand, before realizing that his hands wouldn't move, and that whatever was holding them down hurt.

He groaned, trying to pretend he was still asleep, hoping that if he did, whoever had bound his hands so tightly would leave him alone.

"Oh? Is the little king so great that he can ignore even me now? Come on, _Just_ King, I know you are awake," the voice was low and familiar, angry now, and Edmund felt a chill run down his spine. His eyes snapped open.

He was cold, but not like he had been back at Cair. This was a natural kind of cold, cold like Narnia in winter. In winter...

His whole body felt as if he were lying naked on ice...

Edmund glanced around and let out a small, terrified gasp.

He _was _lying on ice. Lying on ice in the middle of a room, built out of ice and iron and with a ceiling that seemed to reach to the sky. He knew this room well, and, in a fit of fear, Edmund scrambled to his feet, tripping over them and falling down on his face once more when he realized they had been chained together at the ankles.

He struggled to his feet a second time, to the great amusement of his captor. This time, he managed to stay upright, though his legs were quaking and everything hurt.

Suddenly, Edmund doubled over in pain, grasping at his stomach as a blast of blinding pain hit him. It was ten times worse than what he had been feeling earlier, a result of the hag's chanting, he inferred.

The voice that had spoken a moment ago laughed in mirth, sounding like clinking glass, and Edmund raised his bound hands to his forehead, fighting off the dizziness that assaulted him.

His hands were bound with strong, but thin cords, so tightly they were digging into the skin of his wrists, cutting them open. He could barely move his left hand an inch from his right.

The heavy furs he had been wearing before were gone now. He was only wearing his tunic and a pair of trousers, along with knickers. His shoes had been taken, as well.

Edmund glanced up fearfully, knowing who had spoken only a moment ago, but his mind was in denial of the fact. She couldn't be real; she was dead. This was just another nightmare-

The White Witch stood before him, only a few feet away, in all her splendor. She wore a heavy gown of white, her feet hidden beneath it, her hair plaited and falling over her shoulder. The smile she awarded him made his insides churn.

This was just another nightmare, it couldn't be real, she couldn't be real, Peter would wake him up any moment now...

She was holding the wand in both her hands, a subtle threat. The source of all his nightmares for the past five years was standing on the lowest step leading up to her throne, a throne that Edmund remembered with much more splendor. Now, it was nearly melted, metal sticking out of the back in sharp spikes, looking more like the door to a cell than a throne.

The thick layer of ice serving as the armrests convinced him that the throne would not remain in this deteriorated state for long. Already, he could hear the Witch's castle groaning as her magic took effect, rendering it into the majestic ice palace it had once been. Ice curled around metal hinges, spreading up through the ceiling and down into the floor.

Despite his best efforts to conceal it, Edmund shivered, and it was not from the cold.

He hadn't come here since the Witch's demise. Peter and Lucy had, a few times, and had reported how different the castle looked, barely threatening anymore, all the ice gone. One time, after a particularly bad nightmare, Susan suggested they go to the castle, just to put Edmund's fears to rest.

"You'll see it and feel better, Ed," Susan had pleaded. "You'll see she's powerless. She can't hurt you anymore."

The words that had been Edmund's lifeline for the past five years were so empty now, and the terror that he had tried his best to quell was rising to the surface once more.

The castle was hardly a remnant of the past anymore. Somehow, with her magic, the Witch had made it almost as terrifying and beautiful as if it had never melted, as if she had never been defeated...

_Do you see those two hills?_

Edmund shuddered. Were the stone statues all returned, as well?

"Have you missed me, Son of Adam?"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Whew! This is my longest chapter yet!

Peter and Susan had searched Cair in its entirety, but Edmund was simply nowhere to be found. No one had seen him since breakfast, he hadn't been seen leaving the castle, and he wasn't in his room. He had simply vanished.

Peter widened the search, sending the eagles out across Narnia to find the young king.

A day went past, then two. Still, there was no sign of Edmund from the eagles.

Peter sighed. He could not lose his little brother, not now.

Oreius told the three remaining monarchs that something needed to be done. They could not leave the Narnians lost and confused for much longer. The High King needed to let the people know that he had things under control.

It was Tumnus who suggested giving a speech.

He stepped up onto the podium that had been erected in front of Cair Paravel. More than one hundred Narnians had gathered in the street below, hearing that the High King would be giving a speech this morning. They had come from far and wide, searching for something Peter could not give them. Hope.

Peter glanced at Susan and Lucy, standing a little off to the side, between Tumnus and the beavers. Lucy gave him an encouraging smile.

Peter sighed again, turning back to the Narnian creatures. "King Edmund is...missing," he choked out, sounding less like a king than he should have. There was a collective gasp, and Peter forced himself to continue. "We will do our best to bring home the Just King, but everyone is asked to keep a wary eye out. There has been no word from the Witch, no hint at what she is planning. If she was responsible for thie evil act, rest assured she will not prevail. I suggest that you all remain on your guard. Any who feel that their homes do not offer suitable protection is invited to stay at Cair." He hesitated, unable to bear the expectant eyes searching him for some sign of victory. "The Witch cannot win this fight. She has already been defeated once before. We must trust in Aslan."

He was made painfully aware of how hollow the words sounded by the silence of the crowd.

ǁ

The eagles had turned up nothing on the whereabouts of the young king, and, by the third day, Peter was sick of waiting around, doing nothing.

Despite Oreius' warnings, he went out to look for his younger brother himself on the third day, taking with him a small army to serve as a search party. Oreius felt that this was leaving Cair vulnerable, and the castle would be prey to the Witch, but Peter wouldn't heed him.

He could not sit by, writing speeches and enlisting soldiers while he knew that his little brother was out there somewhere, alone and cold. Edmund would not have simply left on his own with no explanation. Something had happened to him, and Peter had the strongest suspicion that the Witch was the cause of it.

After all, it was rather convenient that neither Edmund or the Witch could be found anywhere.

Peter was out from dawn until dusk every day for the next three days, searching for the Just King every second, plowing through Narnia, desperate for some sign. Three more search parties joined him, all in different directions. It was no secret that Peter was frantic to find Edmund, and the Narnians were getting scared.

As much as they loved their Just King, the fear of the Witch and what she could do to Narnia took precedence.

The High King brought his army up to the North, as close to the giants as they dared go, then to the border of Archenland. They searched the forests, rivers, and ravines, but there was no sign of King Edmund.

Susan and Lucy wanted to help in the search, but Peter managed to convince them it would be better if there was always a monarch at Cair, in case there was an attack. He didn't want to have to worry about their disappearing, as well.

Susan almost ignored him and went out on her own to find her brother, but the pained look in Peter's eyes, and the slight growl of warning from Oreius, forced her to stay at Cair. She was obviously not pleased, however. Her arrows hit the target every time, and she didn't remind Peter of a Gentle Queen anymore as she ruthlessly trained the recruits, and even enlisted Oreius' help in doing so.

A reward was offered for anyone with information on the young king. Each day, it steadily grew, but there was no word. No one had heard or seen him, just as no one had heard or seen the White Witch.

Each day, King Peter came home from the searches, exhausted in body and soul. Lucy tried to stay strong, tried to convince her older siblings that Edmund would be all right, that they had only to trust in Aslan.

Six days past, and the castle was so cold at night that now even the creatures living in it, covered in fur, were beginning to feel affected. Peter had to sleep with furs piled on top of him and a fire raging just to stay warm.

Even as it was, he hardly slept. His dreams were haunted by nightmares, similar to Edmund's for the past five years, of the Witch doing unspeakable things to his little brother while he slept in the lap of luxury. After only a few hours' sleep, Peter woke early in the morning, before his sisters, grabbed a light breakfast, and disappeared into the deepest parts of Narnia, looking for some sign. Any sign.

Six days, seven.

The Narnians would not give up on their Just King. Every morning, dozens of them showed up at Cair, offering gifts to the Queens and wishing to help join the search. While Peter appreciated their efforts, he allowed Susan and Lucy to deal with them.

Eight days had passed, and Peter couldn't shake the feeling that if they ever found Edmund, it would be too late.

He hurried to go out searching again, knowing in his heart that he would find nothing.

ǁ

Sometime after the tenth day since Edmund's disappearance, he found himself in Edmund's room, sitting on the cold bed, silently observing everything in the room. He couldn't hold back the grief in his heart now that he was here, alone. He had meant to go to the stables and see Philip, but somehow he had ended up here.

Edmund's room was cold and undeniably empty, devoid of life. Everything was just as Edmund had left it, messy and dusty.

Edmund's sword was hanging on the wall, and Peter cursed his own stupidity for the umpteenth time for letting Edmund leave his bed that fateful day. He'd known his brother was not feeling well, that he was obviously sick and shouldn't be out of bed very long, but he'd given in anyway, stupidly ignoring the obvious.

Of course Edmund hadn't been feeling well enough to walk to the stables by himself. He wasn't even wearing his sword.

Peter should have gone with him, should have made sure he got there all right. His little brother had been ill, and this was all his fault...

Lucy entered the room sometime later, sitting down beside Peter and wrapping her arms around his stomach, burying her face in his chest. Neither sibling said a word for what felt like hours, until Susan came in and burrowed under the covers on Peter's other side, and started to hum.

It was one of Edmund's favorite songs, usually sung during Christmas. One of the only things about Christmas that he seemed to enjoy, too terrified by the snow to find much happiness during the season.

Peter wondered how long it would be before the frigid weather, obviously brought on by the Witch, began to snow. Where would Edmund be when it started snowing in the middle of summer?

Peter had no idea how long they sat there, until Susan stopped humming and Lucy whispered into the silence, "We'll get him back."

Peter wished he shared his sister's optimism.

The door opened then, and Fox rushed in. He paused when he caught sight of the three monarchs, hesitating. After a long while, he finally exclaimed, "Your Majesties, I was looking for you. Oreius wishes to let you know he is leaving, on another search to find King Edmund."

Peter jumped up. "Tell him to wait," he said, checking to make sure he was still wearing his sword.

The Fox shook his head. "My King, I think it would be best if you did not go on this one. You have been wearing yourself thin on these searches. Rest today."

"Peter, he has a point," Susan said softly, studying her brother. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was an unhealthy pale. His hands were also beginning to shake, at a very frightening pace.

Peter sighed. "Very well." That worried Susan. Peter would never have agreed unless he thought he really was too exhausted to be of help, and if that were the case, he was worse off than Susan had realized. She and Lucy exchanged agonized glances.

The Fox nodded, turning to go. Then, he seemed to hesitate. "Your Majesties, I think it is safe to assume now that the White Witch was responsible for King Edmund's disappearance. If that is the case-"

Susan swallowed, pulling away from her siblings. "We need to send to Archenland for help." She ignored Peter's soft arguments. "If the Witch destroys us, she will go after Archenland next," she interrupted him, and Peter nodded, hanging his head. "And find some spies who can actually tell us something useful. And get more recruits. The Witch will be coming soon, if she has Edmund. We had best be prepared." It was the most impolite Lucy could ever remember her older sister being around anyone but Peter.

The Fox sighed. "Yes, Your Majesty," he wilted, turning and leaving the room.

Lucy slowly stood. "Well then, I guess I'd better get back to the healers," she said, hugging her siblings one last time before hurrying out of the room.

"Edmund would want you to stay strong, for him," Susan counseled as she also stood, pacing a hole into Edmund's carpet in front of his bed. She glanced out the window every few minutes, as if she were expecting Edmund to ride up the main road any minute.

"He's not dead yet," Peter muttered under his breath.

"What?" Susan asked, glancing up in surprise.

"If our roles were reversed and he were here instead of me, he would stay strong and come up with a perfect plan to fix everything!" Peter yelled, not knowing where all his anger was coming from but rather enjoying the look of shock on Susan's face.

"We're all doing the best we can," Susan snapped coolly. "I'm only saying you need to rest or you're not going to be of any help to Edmund or the rest of Narnia when they-when we-need you."

Peter ground his teeth. The tension in the room made him wince. "Sorry," he finally whispered.

"We'll find him, Peter," Susan whispered, kneeling down in front of him and leaning against the bed. His Gentle sister reached out and squeezed his hand reassuringly. She was trying to stay strong for Narnia, but Peter could see the fear behind her eyes, the doubt there. He could see the worry lines that were beginning to form around her red lips and eyes.

She finally stood up again, smoothing out her dress and starting toward the door.

"What if she finds him first, Su?" Peter demanded at her back, too harshly, knowing she already had, but not wanting to admit it.

Susan shook her head, turning around slowly to face him. "Then we'll just have to trust in Aslan," she said solemnly, before turning to walk away once more.

Peter shook his head, slightly disgusted with himself as he spat out the words, but unable to hold them back anymore. "Do you really believe that?"

Susan paused, halfway down the hall already. He couldn't see her, but he heard her boots grind to a halt, could hear her even breathing. Finally, "Lucy does," echoed into the silence.

"I wasn't asking about Lucy," Peter shouted after her, but Susan was gone by then.

ǁ

Susan had gone back to training the recruits. Peter was giving speeches now, feeling like a hypocrite as he smiled and waved at the crowd, promised them the Witch could be destroyed.

Lucy and the healers had prepared a room for Edmund when he returned. Peter couldn't understand his youngest sister's optimism.

Lucy came into the throne room where Peter had been wasting about for half the day, after giving another speech, doing nothing but worrying about where Edmund might have gone, and hugged him sometime around noon. Peter clung to her tightly, wishing he hadn't agreed to stay behind to rest rather than searching for Edmund. He couldn't sleep, anyway, so what was the use of sitting around?

"I hate this, doing nothing," Peter muttered darkly.

"We'll find him, Pete," she whispered into his ear, softly. "We just have to trust in Aslan. He knows what he's doing."

Peter's shoulders stiffened at the mention of the lion who had, thus far, not come to help them yet. Where was Aslan? Why had he left them to such a fate? Peter couldn't defeat the Witch on his own; he knew that. Surely Aslan did, too.

Peter glanced down at his sweet little sister as she pulled away, concern gracing her amiable features, but otherwise remaining strong for her brother. Peter was once again reminded of how well she deserved her title, Lucy the Valiant, and how little he deserved his own.

"I'm going with the healer today, Pete, to help find anyone who may have been found by the Witch and harmed by her. I'll be gone until nightfall." She noticed his incredulous look. "I'll be perfectly safe. There will be guards with me the whole time."

A sudden fear hit him, and he crossed his arms. Lucy was so little, and she would be going out with a group of healers, none of them skilled in warfare. He couldn't lose her, too.

"Maybe you should stay here today, Lu," he suggested casually, painfully aware of how weak his voice sounded, even to his own ears. "The healers don't really need that many people to help. No one has actually reported any problems with the Witch."

Lucy hid a smile behind her smooth white hand. "I'll be fine, Peter."

Peter shook his head stubbornly. "I don't think you should go, Lucy," he tried again.

His little sister could be equally stubborn when it suited her. "I need to go. I need to feel like I'm doing something to help. Besides, I'm taking a troop of mice with me, so I'll be well protected."

Her oldest brother sighed, not at all impressed with her guard. "Maybe I should send one of Oreius' sons with you, as well."

Lucy rolled her eyes. She opened her mouth, about to make a smart retort, when Peter interrupted her.

"Lu! This is serious!" Peter snapped. "Edmund disappeared without any sign of what may have happened to him, and I'm not going to risk the same thing happening to you!"

Lucy swallowed. Peter never shouted at her. Susan, yes, Edmund, constantly, yet not as much as before Narnia, but never Lucy. She knew he was just nervous and stressed, but Lucy couldn't help the flash of hurt that swept across her features.

Peter calmed, feeling guilty for shouting at her. "All right. But be careful, and take your dagger with you. And if anyone-"

She was already gone, the door to the throne room slamming shut behind her, leaving Peter in silence.

He sat there for a few minutes, head in his hands, rubbing his temples furiously.

He couldn't stand this; his hands were shaking and he jumped every time someone entered the room, knowing they were coming to tell him his brother's body had been found, an ice splinter in his chest.

He couldn't lose Edmund again, not like this. Not to the Witch who had stolen him before, for that was undoubtedly what had happened again. And if anything happened to his little brother, she would pay for it this time.

ǁ

Edmund swallowed thickly, his stomach rumbling with hunger. It seemed impossible to be hungry in this place, and his face burned with anger. Especially when his own selfish hunger had brought him here the first time, but Edmund found himself drooling over memories of past Christmas feasts at Cair.

He knew it wasn't Christmastime, that it was the middle of summer, but from his perspective just then, it certainly felt like winter. It was too cold to be a golden summer of Narnia.

Thick ice ran up and down the walls, completely covering them to the point that he could not even see the metal he knew ran beneath. The windows had disappeared under a thin layer of the stuff, not enough to inhibit his view of the outside world, but enough that he knew no one could hear him outside.

The Witch, after her initial greeting, seemed to want nothing to do with him, and he found that rather disturbing. After all these years, of imagining the horrors that she contrived long through the entirely too long nights, she wasn't even interested in him.

The White Witch had sat back down in her throne, looking as though she never left it, and sent for a centaur who looked disturbingly familiar. He picked Edmund up-none too gently-and brought him here, muttering in disgust about having to be so near to the "little traitor" the entire time.

Then Edmund was left alone, chained in the very spot he had been kept five years ago, Mr. Tumnus' cell across from him, sitting on the cold floor. But this time, the Witch had left him with nothing to eat, and it had been days since then.

He didn't know how long she had kept him down here. Edmund supposed he could have kept track of how many days had passed through the window above his head, but that first night he had been too ill to think of it, and now he didn't really see the point. He still felt ill, actually, and, even though it was freezing, he was hot with fever one moment and feeling the effects of the cold the next. What was worse, the wound that shouldn't have hurt his stomach was acting up again, and now, it was much worse.

"Blast!" Edmund muttered, glancing down at the wound.

The thin scar that appeared during the Court session, when it shouldn't have been there in the first place, was now a much larger, thicker wound in his stomach, almost as if the nearness of the Witch was causing it to return to its state before the effects of the cordial.

At least there was no blood, and the pain was only a dull throbbing. For now.

Edmund shivered, curling in on himself for some semblance of warmth and rubbing his manacled hands against his chest in an effort to warm up.

The Witch had left him down here to freeze to death, he was sure of it.

The one small comfort he had while languishing away in this dungeon was that this time, he wasn't here because he had betrayed his siblings. This time, Peter wasn't angry with him, and he didn't have to worry about them never coming to find him because they hated him so much.

Peter would come. He was sure of it. It wouldn't be much longer.

Edmund tried to stay awake that night, too, as he had done since he arrived here, he really did. He was far too terrified of having a nightmare about the Witch, and then waking up to find that it was real, that he really was back in her dungeons, and that everything that happened his dreams could very well happen easily now. He couldn't fall asleep. He couldn't bear that.

Peter wasn't here to help him, to calm him down when he awoke screaming. No, he couldn't fall asleep.

But Edmund's eyes soon began to droop, and it was a struggle to just keep his head from falling back down on his chest. His mind wasn't functioning properly; he was beginning to see things, and his head was pounding from lack of proper rest.

Edmund fell asleep. Within a few moments, he was twitching in his sleep, flailing about despite the strong chains as another dream plagued him.

But the nightmares had not even begun.

ǁ

Peter was freezing once more. He'd noticed it ever since re-entering the castle, and couldn't help wishing he had remembered to bring his fur coat back in with him. He could call for one of the servants to bring him another, but it felt selfish somehow, when it never had before.

He was still at Cair, sitting in his throne room, having skipped supper. Oreius had not yet returned from his search, and the lengthy mission was allowing Peter to hope. Perhaps he was taking so long because he had found Edmund, and...Peter slammed his fists against the armrests of the throne.

He was going to go insane, sitting here waiting for some news, unable to go out and help rescue his little brother. He still couldn't believe he had agreed to stay home and rest.

_"When was the last time you slept, Pete?" Susan asked, leaning forward and checking the temperature on his forehead with the back of her hand._

_Peter shook his head. "I haven't been sleeping well lately."_

_Susan frowned, instantly concerned. "Go and get some rest, Peter, please. You're no use to Edmund half-awake. You can go tomorrow. If Oreius hasn't found him by now." The last sentence was an after thought, as if she really didn't believe that possible._

That had been when he tried to leave the castle by himself to look for Edmund, and Susan had cornered him on the way out.

Edmund was probably freezing somewhere, chained to a wall without a coat, going through untold tortures administered by the Witch before she killed him.

But why did she want Edmund? Aslan had already died in his place, breaking the Stone Table and ridding it of its power forever. She could no longer claim his blood, and the Witch was not the sort of person to do things for the sole purpose of revenge, Peter felt, but then again, maybe she was. That left only one other option; ransom. She could be holding Edmund and use him to force the Kings and Queens to abdicate their throne, but somehow Peter doubted that possibility, as well.

The Witch would want a fight, a final showdown to prove that Narnia was hers, and she would not stop until the prophecy was...

The prophecy. Only when the four siblings sat on the thrones of Cair could the Witch's power be thwarted. Peter had never had a reason to look into the prophecy any more than that before, but now he was worried. If the Witch killed Edmund, would she automatically gain back all of Narnia forever?

Peter shuddered at the thought, his mind once again rebelling. Why would Aslan allow any of this? Why wasn't he here? What was so important that he would abandon them to-

No, he refused to think like that.

Oreius was gone to the North, to recruit any able bodied Narnians into the army. The Narnian army was large, but certainly not large enough for Peter's comfort. He wouldn't be back for a while, so the High King could find no help from him.

_High King?_ A little voice whispered in the back of his head. _You haven't acted like a High King since the day of your coronation._

Peter sighed, leaning back in his golden throne. He had spent the majority of his day here, ever since Susan had told him he couldn't go out and do something stupid, like find Edmund himself.

They were afraid the White Witch would capture him as well, he knew. If she had both Kings of Narnia, Narnia would fall. The girls couldn't face her on their own, he reminded himself.

He was alone. Aslan was not here to help him.

Peter shook himself angrily. None of this was helping Edmund. He wasn't alone; Edmund was alone somewhere, stolen from his family, probably terrified, and freezing from that strange illness, or curse, or whatever it was. Edmund needed him, and he couldn't just sit here and do nothing hoping for Aslan!

Springing out of his throne, Peter paced the floor, running a nervous hand through his blond locks as he walked.

The door suddenly opened and one of the bears, a gentle, usually shy creature who attended Peter, pranced into the room, bowing before the High King.

Peter sighed and turned to the bear, careful not to let his anger and fear show on his face. Bears were gentle creatures; the emotions would have confused the poor animal. Belatedly, he realized that he had unsheathed his sword, and slowly replaced it.

"What is it?" he asked, trying not to sound too impatient, but that was growing very thin. Imminent war, the return of a dead sorceress, Edmund's disappearance...

...Flew from his mind the moment the Bear spoke.

"My lord, I went down to the dungeons to relieve the hound on guard, and..." the bear's eyes welled up with tears, and he stuck a paw in his mouth, as if unable to speak.

Dread filled the High King and he stopped pacing to face the bear head on. "What happened?"

The bear shook slightly as it spoke again. "They were dead, Your Majesty. The hound and the black bear, my cousin. Their throats...had been cut open with a blade. I went further into the dungeons to see if the hag was still there and-,"

The blood drained from Peter's face in horror. "Has she escaped?"

The bear shook his great head. "No, Your Majesty, the hag was still there, but she was singing a strange song, and I suddenly felt so cold-,"

The blood started rushing through him once more, and a stray thought that hadn't occurred to him before, an idea of what may have happened to Edmund, hit him suddenly, like a blow to the chest.

Peter did not wait for the poor bear to finish his story. Another draft of icy cold air hit him and he shivered, pulling out Rhindon once more.

Furious with himself that he had not thought of this already, Peter rushed out of the throne room, ignoring the concerned looks of the badgers guarding the door and the way the bear called after him, and ran down the stairs until he reached the dungeon level.

Peter pushed open the door to the dungeons and rushed inside, sword already out of its scabbard, clenched tightly in his hand.

What he found there stopped him in his tracks. Blood, spilled across the stone floor, staining the once black ground a thick crimson. The hound was still lying on its side, a look of pain in its wide, dull eyes as they stared up sightlessly at Peter. The hound's throat had been slit, the bloody work done with a knife or a claw, looking like a grin on the creature's white and brown neck. The black bear lay beside it, a mess of fur and blood, eyes clenched shut. Both were dead.

Gritting his teeth, Peter stepped over the guards' bodies and further into the dungeons. He felt guilty about just leaving their bodies there, but something far more important plagued him, and would until he discovered the truth.

The hag was the only prisoner in the dungeons. Edmund did not like prisons, ever since his encounter with the Witch's dungeons, and hated the thought of condemning a fellow creature, even a guilty one, to such a fate. Since he was the one who usually doled out sentences, he would find much kinder forms of punishments, such as working in the dwarves' mines or exile to Archenland.

Peter thought he was being too kindhearted, but almost always indulged him in that one way.

Edmund had made no such plea on behalf of the hag, or perhaps he had simply been too sick to notice what had happened to her.

Peter sighed. He should have never let his younger brother out of his sight. He'd known the boy was too sick to be up and about, but like a fool, he had given in.

"Ah, so you're back then," the hag commented, the sound of claws scraping against the metal bars of her cage yanking Peter back to the present.

It was dark in the prison, only a simple torch hanging from the wall behind Peter. It cast eerie shadows across the hag's face. It was freezing down here, much colder, even, than upstairs.

Peter glared at her. "What have you done to my brother?" he demanded angrily. Rhindon was barely an inch from her throat.

The hag pretended to look offended, cocking her head at him, green hair, no longer slicked back, falling about her ears at awkward angles. "Whatever do you mean, my King?" she demanded mockingly. "I haven't touched a single hair on King Edmund's head. I believe you have enough accusations to kill me now without adding any more."

Peter ground his teeth together. It was taking all of his self-control not to lunge forward and attack the creature. He couldn't kill her yet. That would ruin his only chance of finding out what had happened to Edmund.

"Nevertheless, you did something," he accused, staring down his sword at her. "He was acting strangely ever since you were brought to the castle, in pain and cold, too cold. He fainted the first time he saw you."

The hag cackled. "Yes, well, I do seem to have that affect on some people," she said, rubbing her claws together and making Peter cringe at the sound.

"He's gone now, hag. What do you know of it?" Peter inched closer to the cage, and now Rhindon was touching her leathery skin through the bars. The hag gulped.

"Nothing that I can think of off the top of my head, Your Majesty," she said with an evil grin. "Perhaps, though, if you were to provide some incentive like your kind brother did when he came down to visit me, I may be more inclined to remember."

Peter gasped. "Edmund came down here? When was that?"

The hag raised an eyebrow at him, waiting.

Peter sighed. "If you tell me what I want to know, then I will..." he paused, unable to say the words but knowing it was the only thing that would convince the wicked creature in front of him to talk, "I will set you free."

The hag cackled again. "My, my, the High King is desperate."

Peter bit the inside of his cheek. "Just...tell me what you know, you loathsome creature, and you will be free to crawl back to your mistress."

"I can't help thinking what Aslan would say, could he hear you now," the hag purred. "I don't think he would approve of such words from his High King, Son of Adam."

Peter stiffened, lowering the sword a fraction of an inch. "Aslan isn't here," he snapped, raising it again. A small trickle of blood ran down the hag's neck.

"No, he isn't," the hag smiled again, that strange, creepy smile, before saying, "Very well, High King, since you are so desperate to cater to my wishes, I accept."

Peter smiled, lowering the sword completely now, returning it to his side. "You'll tell me, just like that?"

"Provided you let me go, to return to my mistress," the hag responded, sounding giddy. It suddenly felt frigid down here, and the robes Peter was wearing were not enough to ward off the cold. He shivered visibly now, wrapping his free arm around himself in an effort to stay warm.

Peter nodded, a plan already forming in his mind. The hag had made a mistake, reminding him of Aslan. A stray memory ran through him, a memory of Aslan, holding down a wolf, then letting it up and ordering, _"Follow him, he will lead you to Edmund."_

"Very well," the hag rubbed her hands together, pacing back and forth within her cage. "Your little king came in here, not twelve hours ago."

Peter's head snapped up. So the hag, the hound, and the black bear had been the last ones to see him. He'd been such a fool, searching in all the wrong places.

"He came down here," the hag continued, "looking rather poorly. He demanded to know how Her Majesty returned, and where she was. He did not look well. He kept shivering."

Peter bristled at the term "Her Majesty" being used for the White Witch, but otherwise stayed perfectly calm, waiting.

"I told him you had already interrogated me," the hag went on, winking at Peter as she spoke these words, "and he insisted that he had the right to know. Then," and here she smiled, "her agent came for him, snuck up behind him and hit him over the head. I suspect he walked right back up through that palace of yours without anyone being the wiser."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I think someone would have noticed-"

"I put a spell on them, so that no one would," the hag cackled again, playing with the rags that were her clothing. "They're gone. The agent took your little Just King back to the Witch, and she will certainly have her revenge on him."

The High King blinked at her. "Tell me where she is," he demanded, leaning forward threateningly.

The hag smirked. "Ah-ah," she gestured to the cage between them, and Peter sighed, pulling out the ring of keys tied around his neck and grabbing the one that would open the cage doors. He slowly unlocked it and opened the door.

The hag jumped gleefully out of the cage. "The agent will take your brother back to Her Majesty, like he was ordered to. She wants justice for what was done to her. Where do you think she will take him, Son of Adam?"

Peter glared at her. "Justice?" he repeated the word like a perverse curse, clenching his teeth.

"Yes, of course. Edmund never paid the price for his betrayal, and the Witch will not make the same mistake twice. Where did you think she was taking him, Son of Adam?" The hag smirked at him.

Peter flinched as a dozen images of Ed, his little brother, lying dead on the Stone Table ran through his mind. But the Stone Table was broken. It couldn't be used for that purpose any longer...could it?

The hag cackled, starting to hobble towards the door, her back to the High King. Her first mistake. Peter knew he had to let her go if he wanted to find out where the Witch was, but he couldn't help indulging the fantasy of Rhindon slicing through the air, embedding itself in her neck...

Wait, what was he thinking? These weren't the thoughts of High King Peter the Magnificent. He never killed anyone outside of battle. And battle was different. Then you weren't thinking about what you were doing, and you weren't killing a fellow creature, but what they fought for.

He had never wanted to kill someone as badly as he wanted to kill this hag, except perhaps the Witch when she came to Aslan's camp and demanded Edmund's blood.

"Her Majesty will take back her kingdom, and that boy will die on the Stone Table. His blood will pour out, and Her Majesty will be appeased, as will the Deep Magic. The Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve will fall. Aslan is not here to save you this time." A smile touched the hags lips. "Or maybe she'll corrupt him again, turn him against you and make him betray you like the little traitor he remains. It worked before."

Peter did not know what exactly happened next, only that one moment, blinding rage surged through him at the thought of the Witch killing his siblings, murdering Edmund for something Aslan had already paid the price for, of ice and fire, and even the thought of the hag saying Edmund could betray them again.

His anger was turning his sight red, and the next thing he knew, the room was spinning and swirling. A loud shriek pierced his eardrums and he was falling, falling...

"Peter!" The unmistakable sound of Susan's voice broke through the haze, and suddenly she was beside him, gripping his arm so tightly he was afraid it would fall off. He blinked at her, the image of her face fading in and out as she continued to shout at him in a desperate attempt to get his attention.

He felt like he was going to pass out. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

He didn't know where he was, what was happening to him. He couldn't understand why Susan kept shouting; the rushing in his head was too loud as it was.

Breaking out of her grip, Peter lifted his hands to cover his ears. He took loud, short breaths, in out, in out, trying to calm down. The world around him stopped spinning and he closed his eyes, wishing it all away.

Susan's hand on his forehead, her soothing voice, brought him back, and his blue eyes snapped open once more.

He looked around desperately, trying to remember where he was, what had happened.

It all came back to him suddenly, and he flinched. He was in the dungeons, with the hag, trying to figure out where Edmund had gone...

Susan and a wolf were standing in the dungeons with him now. They hadn't been here before. Susan's face was calm, impassive, but Peter looked into her eyes and saw the horror filling them.

With dread, Peter turned around, already knowing what he would find.

The hag was lying dead on the dungeon floor, her clothes-mere rags-stained with quickly spreading blood. Her wide eyes were staring up at the ceiling, lifeless.

Peter's sword, Rhindon, was sticking out of her midsection.

Vaguely, Peter noticed that it wasn't cold anymore. Then everything went dark, and he collapsed in Susan's arms.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The pain came later, after the Witch had left him alone for all that time, raging, white-hot pain that was at the same time blistering and cold, and he wondered why she decided to do it now. It choked out everything else he knew, and left him panting and waiting for it all to end, praying that it would. Hoping that Peter would be there when he woke up...

Vaguely, a part of him knew that he was still in Jadis' castle. A part of him knew that this pain washing over him was of her devising, and a part of him remembered what 'the end' would entail. This was her revenge, and it would not be pleasant, and at the end of it, he was going to die.

Edmund opened his bleary brown eyes, glancing around and trying to remember where he was.

The White Witch had removed him from the dungeons, preferring to do this in her torture chambers. Edmund didn't know how she distinguished the two. The rooms looked much the same to him.

Ice surrounded him, on all sides, closing in on him, choking him. His hands were hanging from a chain above his head, shaking. His feet had been tied tightly together, the circulation in them almost gone. He was only wearing his trousers, his tunic a bloody mess of shreds around his feet. It was freezing.

His back, however, was stinging and on fire. He did not need to look to see the blood dripping off of it, by order of the Witch. She had watched while he was mercilessly whipped by a dwarf he certainly didn't recognize, until his back was raw from the lashes.

There was nothing to stop the blinding pain, and every few moments he blacked out, unable to think or breathe. Blood was pouring from his back, staining the ice floor below in an ever growing puddle.

Good. At least this time he was going to leave a mark of his victory for the Witch to remember him by. And he had no doubt Narnia would be victorious against her, just like last time.

Though he hoped she couldn't just bounce back from it again.

He had only eaten once since being brought here, and despite the lack of food his stomach rebelled at the thought of eating as he gazed at his own blood, dripping steadily onto the ice.

Maybe, he acquiesced, it had been rather foolish to throw the food back in the dwarf's face. Although it had been rather satisfying at the time.

Now, though, he was worried that if he didn't die from the Witch's tortures, it would be from starvation.

His punishment for his part in the Witch's defeat, he supposed.

If that was all it was to be, he was relieved. The whipping, though it hurt and begged to drag him into unconsciousness, was not as bad as the things she had done to him in his dreams.

The pain rushed down his spine again, much worse than a moment ago, and he knew he was just beginning to register how bad it really was. He was alone, so he allowed himself the small vulnerable noise that slipped past his lips.

The Witch had left hours ago, just when the pain was becoming unbearable, just before Edmund could plead that she simply get it over with. The dwarf who had carried out the whipping didn't seem to want to stop, but he wouldn't disobey the orders of the Witch.

He supposed that the dwarf whipping him rather than the Witch was important somehow, but he couldn't pinpoint the significance behind it. It simply hurt too much to think.

She was probably biding her time, waiting until it hurt the most and then return with some new, more creative way to punish him. She would bring that knife next time, and then-

Edmund took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. It was only a dream. Peter would wake him up soon, Peter had to wake him up soon...

He glanced around the room. It really wasn't different from his dungeon. The black spires sticking up in the air, the ice almost blue, it was so powerful. So like the room he had been thrust into almost every night when he dreamed. He didn't remember how he had gotten there. There were metal rungs sticking out at odd angles, and the door to the torture chambers was open wide, but no one came in to see him, and his chains were too heavy to contemplate escape.

Edmund half-expected to see Mr. Tumnus sitting chained and mutilated across from him, asking for food.

He had to remind himself that this wasn't a dream, that Mr. Tumnus was still safe in Cair Paravel with Lucy, Peter, and Susan.

Had they noticed he was missing yet? He doubted his siblings would not act soon. In fact, he was beginning to wonder what was taking them so long. They would come for him, free him from the evil source of his nightmares, and then Aslan would defeat her, and everything would be as it should have been.

Besides, if it was a dream, his head wouldn't ache with the dull feeling of a concussion. People didn't get concussions in dreams. They didn't feel the pain of lashes from a dwarf's whip, either.

The object of his nightmares arrived a moment later, and Edmund stiffened. A thousand images that not even five years had been able to suppress washed through him, and he cringed. Aslan had told him it was done. There was nothing to be afraid of anymore.

The figure of the White Witch suddenly appeared in the doorway, filling it almost completely with her tall frame and long white gown. The wand, never absent from her hands now, rested almost lazily against her pale skin, and for a moment, Edmund had no doubt she would use it on him, use it to run him through like she had done during the Battle.

The wound at his stomach that shouldn't have hurt throbbed as one with the thought, and he glanced down, half-expecting it to be pouring out his blood just at the sight of the wand.

But she didn't move, just stood in the doorway, staring at him. For a moment, he wondered if she had frozen herself somehow.

Edmund tried not to sink back into the chains at the very sight of her, straining against them. His back screamed in protest, but he sat tall and proud, chin lifted with defiance, like a real king would. Tried not to admit to himself that he was terrified, perhaps even more so than he had ever been in his dreams, or when she had been living before.

He remembered a time when he had thought her beautiful, more so than any living being. How had he ever seen anything resembling beauty in the cold creature before him?

How was she alive now? It was impossible. Aslan had killed her; Peter had seen him do it.

Unless she had somehow survived, never died in the first place, but that wasn't possible.

Edmund shook his head, hair clumpy from blood and sweat hitting his forehead lightly at the movement. It was all too confusing to think about. All he wanted to do right now was lie down and sleep...

No, no sleeping. There was something about sleeping that was bad, though he couldn't remember what it was. He couldn't fall asleep. Couldn't give the Witch the satisfaction.

Why not?

The White Witch finally moved, stepping lightly, silently, into the room. She twirled the wand around in her hands, eyes boring into Edmund.

"Edmund," she said, her voice sickeningly sweet, and, despite himself, Edmund shrank back at the sound of it. _"Until then..."_

Edmund glared up at her. "Don't try your tricks on me again, Witch," he snapped. "They won't work this time. I've seen you for what you truly are."

The Witch laughed, a musical, lovely sound that made him cringe. "And I have seen you, Just King. Traitor to your people. Sitting on a throne of Narnia as though you deserve it." The last words came out icy and harsh, accusing. And she had every right to be-

Edmund shook his head, trying to clear it of those thoughts. It was the effect of the whipping, he told himself, and Aslan, did it hurt, but he supposed he was too feverish to know how badly.

He had changed since then. He wasn't the same little boy that she could manipulate with her words, or bribe with sweets. He wasn't a traitor any more; Aslan had paid the price for him. "I don't deserve it," he admitted finally, unsure if that was him talking or the fever.

The Witch smiled coyly. "Oh?"

"But Aslan knows you don't," Edmund retorted drily, and the smile on the Witch's face froze in anger. She bent forward until she was nose to nose with her prisoner.

"I made a mistake when I didn't kill you before, little king." She glanced at his butchered back and made a sound like a content moan. "But don't worry, I won't leave you in agony for much longer. Rest assured; you will die this time."

Another flare of pain rushed through him as the streaks across his back pained him once more, and the Witch straightened. Edmund squeezed his eyes shut tightly, fists clenching around the chains holding them. For a moment, after he opened his eyes, he still could see nothing but blackness, and he panicked, lurching forward against the bonds holding him.

His eyesight returned a moment later, startlingly clear, causing him to flinch. He was staring at the folds of the White Witch's too white gown, sweeping over his feet. The tip of her wand was right in front of him. He suddenly wished he was blind.

Edmund forced himself to think, to try and figure out what she had just said to him. He honestly couldn't remember; his back hurt so badly...Oh, right. She was going to kill him. Briefly, he wondered if she planned to do it by starvation, but that didn't sound like her.

Then why didn't she just kill him and be done with it? Why did she feel the need to kill him now, when she could just wage war? From what he had seen of her troops as he was dragged down here, she certainly had nothing to lose.

He wanted to say all that and more, but the only word to make it past his bleeding lips, cracked from too long without water despite all the ice around him was, "Why?"

He felt like he was going to pass out any second now.

Then there was movement, and her lips were brushing against his stinging ears. He flinched away from her closeness, causing his bloody back to sting again.

"Because you, Edmund, condemned me to a fate worse than death. Spending five years in a realm beyond the world of the dead? I did not go to Aslan's country, nor did I go to Tash. If it hadn't been for that foolish little Calormene boy, I would have been condemned to suffer that fate forever. And if it hadn't been for you, I would have never had to suffer through the agony of it to begin with. So this time I am going to return the favor, little traitor."

Edmund blinked, trying to figure out how it had all been his fault.

For a moment, only a moment, mind, a wave of pity ran through him as he stared at this creature, pity for what she must have gone through, pity as he wondered what twisted life she had lived to turn her into the White Witch. Pity that she had returned from the dead and the only thing she wanted was revenge, that she was not capable of love.

It was gone when his back began to throb a second later, agony shooting up his spine. He forced himself not to cry out, not to give the Witch the upper hand.

Daringly, Edmund pointed out the flaw in her logic, struggling to keep his voice calm as his back ached. "Aslan already paid the price for me."

The Witch's eyes twitched, but quickly hardened with contempt. "The first time, yes. But he isn't here to repeat that."

Edmund's eyes widened as the implication sunk in. Did that even make sense? The Stone Table had been broken, its magic gone. Could the Witch undo the Deep Magic if he betrayed again?

No, it wasn't possible. The Lion had paid for his betrayal, had destroyed the Magic of the Stone Table once and for all. Edmund would never be forced to die for his treachery again.

Belatedly, and he blamed it on his sluggish senses ever since waking up after his whipping, he realized that it didn't really matter whether the Deep Magic could be returned to the Stone Table. It didn't matter whether she would succeed in her twisted attempt to make him betray all that he loved again. The Witch would kill him anyway, dump his body on the Table, and have her revenge, whether his death was appeasing the Deep Magic or not.

Her attempt to kill him as a traitor the first time had merely been an excuse to be rid of him, a last-ditch effort, to keep the prophecy of the four that would be her undoing from coming true.

"You will turn traitor by the time I am done with you, so eager will you be to," she glanced over his wounds and he winced, "escape. And then I will kill you." She leaned down to face him. "And when I have killed you for the traitor's death that should have been yours, I will kill your siblings and take back Narnia." She smiled coldly, and it froze him to the core.

"Do you plan to kill me by deprieving me of food and water?" Edmund snapped at her, realizing too late that it was probably not the best thing to say at that moment. But he had never been good with words. That had always been Susan, who could manipulate with her gentle suggestions. Edmund preferred to use a sword to get his point across.

A small grin twisted Jadis' cold white features into something even more terrifying. Edmund had to resist the urge to close his eyes again. "Guards!" she shouted, her face unchanging, her eyes never leaving Edmund. Those eyes, so dead looking. They appeared to be looking inside his very soul, rooting out all his fears and laughing at them, though her lips soon returned to their firm line.

A moment later, a guard, rather ogreish in nature, lumbered into the room and gave the Witch an awkward bow.

"I ordered that our little guest be fed," she snapped coldly, turning those icy pale eyes on the ogre and away from Edmund. He could not suppress his sigh of relief.

The ogre, if possible, seemed nervous. "Yes, Your Majesty." He eyed Edmund in contempt.

The Witch dismissed the ogre and turned back to Edmund. "But only enough to be kept alive. After all, it is not as if you will be alive much longer and there is no need to waste good food."

Edmund glared at her stubbornly, refusing to be scared by the woman who had haunted his nightmares, ignoring the quaking in his voice, the trembling in his lips as those nightmares flashed before him, when he finally spoke. "Aslan will come before then."

He wasn't sure to which he was referring, his death or her overtaking Narnia. Oh, he just wanted to sleep!

The Witch lifted her wand so that the tip of it was leaning against Edmund's chest, enjoying the fear that flashed across his features, a fear he tried so desperately to hide again. She forced down her fury at the mention of that lion's name. "Don't be so sure, little king."

Edmund lifted his chin defiantly, and they locked eyes for a moment, dark brown meeting crystalline blue. Then the Witch turned with a huff, and strode out of the room, the door slamming behind her of its own accord, leaving Edmund in silence.

He forced himself to push through the pain, to stay awake this time. He could not fall asleep, no matter how much his back ached. This pain was better than his dreams.

He focused on the wounds marring his shredded back, focused on the pain rather than the intense desire for unconsciousness that had hit him full force.

Before he passed out from the pain, some small part of him realized that he no longer felt ill with that strange sickness he had acquired ever since seeing that hag in the throne room during Court...In fact, he just felt warm from a fever totally unrelated. His mind dimly registered it as infection. But at least the cold was gone.

ǁ

Susan was horrified by what he had done. No, she hadn't say anything to this effect, but she wouldn't even look into his eyes as she bandaged his arm, and that was how he knew. Peter didn't even remember how his arm had become wounded in the first place, only knew that the hag's claws cut deeply.

Rhindon was back in its place at his waist, cleaned after its latest use, and every time Peter looked at it, he felt sick, remembering that Aslan had blessed this sword, to be used honorably in battle, not to kill in cold murder. And Peter had done just that.

There were only a few healers in the wing today, as most of them had left with Lucy on her little quest, not yet returned, and most of them were dealing with creatures wounded during their sparring. Susan had been forced to bandage Peter's arm herself, all gentleness gone from her touch as she wrapped the white cloth coldly around his bare skin.

She was wearing a dark brown, tight dress with long sleeves, Peter noticed absently as she rubbed some sort of ointment on his arm.

The healing wing was not Peter's favorite part of the palace, but it seemed to be the place he inhabited the most. The cordial that Lucy always kept with her was mostly used for emergencies and life or death situations, so a healing wing was necessary. A broken arm or an injured leg, his usual calamity, did not warrant the cordial's use, and so sometimes he was down here for days on end, recovering.

Most of the time, Edmund was in the bed beside him. Peter didn't bother to hide how badly he wished that was the case now. But he was gone, kidnapped by the White Witch, and who knew what she was doing to him now, even as Peter lay here doing nothing.

All Peter could think about, the only thing that swept away the guilt of killing in cold blood was that it _wasn't cold anymore._

But that didn't make sense. Surely the cold had something to do with the Witch, not some hag. However, he couldn't deny the fact that he had stopped freezing the moment he killed the creature. Even Susan had remarked on it as she dragged him away from the dungeons.

Susan finished applying ointment to his arm and wrapped the rest of the cloth around it. "There," she spoke finally, all tones of gentleness gone from her voice. She stood and stepped back, still eying him as if she expected him to raise his sword against her any second now.

Peter slid off the bed and raised his arm in circles. "It feels much better," he assured his sister, wishing she would stop worrying about him and start worrying about Ed. They had much more important things to be doing than wrapping a little cut on his arm.

Susan shook her head. She had been unable to trust herself to speak until now, but when she opened her mouth, the words came spilling out, along with one, solitary tear.

"Did you find out anything about Ed?" she demanded, voice colder than Peter would have thought possible. He had the grace not to mention the tear.

He looked at her more closely now. Susan was still glaring at him, arms crossed, and he couldn't shake the feeling that any second now she would yank out an arrow and throw it at him, angered by his stupidity.

One of the naiads came into the room to check on the High King. She glanced between the two of them, noticing the tension, and hurried back out, leaving him alone with the Gentle Queen, who seemed to him anything but gentle at this moment.

They stood in awkward silence for a full minute, Peter staring out the large window overlooking one of Cair's gardens. The dryads believed that, if long-term patients were allowed to tend to plants, it could help them heal. It made for a very pretty view, at least, though the sun was already setting and soon that view would be gone.

Where was Lucy? She should have been back by now. Unbidden, panic rose up in his throat, but he forced it back down.

"Killing her didn't help Edmund," Susan stated flatly, her lips the only thing moving. She couldn't shake the horror that she had been feeling ever since she had found Peter, standing over the dead hag, not looking the least bit remorseful, mercilessly stabbing Rhindon through the hag's heart, not once but again and again.

His eyes looked mad, and Susan never wanted to see that look again.

She shouted for him to stop, but he ignored her, or didn't hear her. Susan the Gentle had been sick at what she saw.

She didn't even know if he realized what he had done. He had looked far away even as he stared at her, finally collapsing in her arms. She understood his fury at what had happened to Edmund, but killing the hag, if anything, had only made matters worse.

The hag had been their only way of knowing what was happening to their little brother. And Peter had killed it, not like he killed in war, swift yet mercifully, but because whatever the hag said-she hardn't heard-made him angry.

Part of her was angry with him, too, though she was doing her best to set it aside. Her little brother was somewhere, maybe even dying, and the hag may have been their last chance to find him. The hag knew things. Peter had killed it. Edmund was out there, alone and afraid, and they were wasting their time not helping him!

She forced herself to calm, taking a deep breath. They would find Edmund. They had to. She glanced at Peter again, this time with pity.

She didn't know if she recognized the High King anymore. Peter from five years ago would never have done anything like that. She wanted Edmund back as much as he did, but to do something like this...

Peter turned around to face her, and she saw the conflict in his eyes. "I know," he said softly. "And I...I wasn't going to."

Susan's arms lowered to her eyes and she let out a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a snort. Sometimes she couldn't handle this, playing mother to her siblings. Usually, she enjoyed it, but it was moments like these when she felt like she was doing everything horribly wrong and felt that distinct yearning for their real mother all too heavily.

"What happened?"

It was the first time she had asked, and Peter had been wanting her to speak before now, to ask, but now that she did his stomach twisted and he couldn't bear to answer. "She told me that Ed had been taken by the Witch. And then she said something about him and I... It was wrong of me; I know that. I didn't even realize what I was doing. One second I was just angry, and the next she was lying there dead, and you were there, and-" he cut himself off.

Susan stared up at him sadly. She wanted to know what the hag had said that made Peter so angry he killed her. The Gentle Queen felt terror rise up inside her at the thought of unspeakable things being done to Edmund the Just. She opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Oreius, banging open the door with the flat of his sword and charging into the room.

Oreius did not even seem to notice Peter's bandaged arm, nor the look of horror plastered on the Queen's face. He was panting, still wearing full battle armor, when he came in. "Your Majesties, we've found the Witch."

Peter felt like an idiot when Orieus told him where she was. It was so obvious, it was frightening. But they had searched there already; why hadn't they seen her before?

"It seems she has been at her old castle for a while, your Majesties," Oreius said in response to the unspoken question, although that wasn't really an answer. "She came down from somewhere up North, and...she has an army. A substantial army."

Susan interrupted, "Have you found out anything about Edmund?"

Oreius shook his long mane, a deep look of regret flitting over his features. "I am afraid not, Your Majesties, but I fear that the Witch has him in her power. she would not be so bold if she did not know she had the upper hand."

Peter sighed. He didn't need to hear it; he knew Edmund had been taken the Witch, somewhere deep inside. What good were their spies if they couldn't even figure all this out before now?

"Prepare for battle, Oreius," he ordered, hoping it would not be a long one, hoping Edmund would be all right when it was over and they found him. If they won. "We're going to get Edmund back, and we're going to defeat her."

Susan touched his arm silently. Defeating the resurrected White Witch was not going to be an easy task. They had only defeated her before because Aslan had been there. He was painfully aware of his own failure to protect his little brother then, his failure to defeat the Witch by himself. How were they going to do that now, with Aslan nowhere of help?

Peter sighed. "Susan, now might be a good time to blow your horn." Maybe Aslan would come if she blew it. He didn't know exactly what he was expecting, didn't know if Aslan could even be called by the horn wherever he was, only that whatever happened had to help them somehow.

"What about Archenland, Your Majesty?" Oreius asked, looking concerned. "We sent a delegation to them, but they never responded."

Peter thought for a moment. He couldn't with a clear conscience ask Archenland for help against the Witch. He was rather annoyed that Susan had already done so, not wanting them to get involved. The Witch was powerful, and if...if she somehow won, she would win Archenland as well, and it would be Peter's fault. "This is our fight," he said at last, feeling Susan stiffen beside him. "We will stand against her whether Archenland chooses to help fight or not."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Oreius said, bowing before he took his leave. "I will have more troops prepared by tonight. We march at dawn tomorrow. I pray it will be enough."

Susan swallowed hard. An image of Edmund, smiling at her as he snuck out for another sword fight during a feast with Archenland, flashed through her mind. She was not quite as optimistic about their success as Peter. The Witch was cunning, and if she had an army, Susan didn't know how they would defeat her. And what if by then Edmund- She cut that thought off. No. She could not think about that. Edmund would be fine. They would find him. Figure out some way to get him from the Witch.

If it came down to it, could Susan choose between Narnia and her brother?

Please Review! Thank you to Green for your reviews as well so far!


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Happy Spring Break everybody! I just finished watching the BBC version of the Silver Chair. I'd never actually seen it before. Anyway, enough about me-on with the chapter! Please R+R!

Chapter 9

Lucy felt like a naughty child, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds, knowing that any moment one of the dryads would notice she was missing from their party and raise the alarm. She could almost hear Susan's voice in her head, asking why she would do something so foolish.

Lucy ignored the imagined admonition and kept walking through the densely populated forest, hand clutching her dagger so hard her knuckles were turning white.

She was wearing a warm fur around her shoulders, and long sleeves, as well as her winter boots. The young Queen had packed food enough for a few days in the bag slung over her shoulder.

She wasn't cold yet, in fact, she was quite warm, but she knew she soon would be, if the Witch's power grew any stronger. After all, Peter and Susan had already started feeling the cold when she left. Unless that had something to do with Edmund's sickness. She really only knew one thing anymore.

Winter was returning.

"Was that why Edmund was so ill?" Lucy wondered allowed.

The forest was dark, the only light come from the stars leaking through the tree branches, and Lucy stumbled over twigs and logs quite a few times. Her feet were much too loud for her liking, snapping broken pieces of wood beneath her shoes and squishing over moss. One of the Hounds had once taught her how to be silent in the woods if she were sneaking up on somebody, but right now she couldn't remember any of those lessons.

She knew it was only a matter of time before the dryads learned of her disappearance, and then they would send a report back to Peter and Susan and she would be in trouble. But Lucy had to try. She would not just sit by and do nothing while Edmund was missing.

It may have been foolish to go out and find him by herself, but Lucy didn't have a choice. Susan would never have allowed her to go with a hunting party.

Come to think of it, neither would Peter have.

It didn't matter. She would find Edmund and she would bring him home. She had to. Sure, the scouting parties were out, but they weren't having much luck.

Besides, Lucy knew where Edmund was, and a scouting party wouldn't be enough to bring him back from Jadis' castle. Especially if Jadis was there and very much, though impossibly, alive.

She didn't really have a plan. Just find Edmund and bring him home somehow. Or at least find him and let him know they would be together again soon.

The youngest Queen stopped for a moment to catch her breath. As she did, she heard the unmistakable sound of a branch snapping and glanced down to see what she had stepped on this time.

She was standing on moss. Someone was following her.

Lucy forced herself to remain calm, to act like she hadn't even noticed, but her dagger switched hands and, almost imperceptibly, she tensed, preparing for a fight.

She hadn't been in many fights in the last few years, preferring healing to fighting, and it was certainly a much safer occupation. She never went to war with Peter and Edmund, although even Susan sometimes joined them. Peter didn't want her exposed to that sort of thing any more than she had to be, and though Lucy found his over protectiveness somewhat annoying at times, she was secretly pleased.

But Edmund, dear, sweet Edmund, had insisted she stay in practice even when Susan and Peter gave in, forcing her to do several hours of arduous sword practice with him a week, and for the first time Lucy was glad for it.

Lucy forced her mind back to the situation at hand. "Who's there?" she called out into the still, windless night, irritated by the tremble in her voice. How young and weak it made her sound!

She was met only with silence.

Concerned now, and imagining all sorts of horrifying creatures ready to jump out and attack her, Lucy reached down into her knee-high winter boots, hand closing around the handle of Susan's horn.

She had swiped the horn from Susan's rooms before leaving, feeling only slightly guilty about it. She hadn't been planning on using it until she found Edmund, however, and then only to call for reinforcements.

Lifting the horn to her lips, Lucy prepared to blow it for help, when suddenly a voice called out, "Your Highness! What in Aslan's name are you doing out here?"

Lucy lowered the magical horn, sighing. "I'm not going back. You can't make me." She was aware of how childish she sounded, but at the moment she hardly cared. She was too scared for Edmund.

The head of her mice guard stepped into view, the light of the stars falling on him as he walked into a small clearing. He frowned at her. A dozen more mice soon joined him, and with sinking heart Lucy realized that her entire guard had been following her all this time.

"Go back to the dryads," Lucy ordered, knowing they wouldn't listen anyway.

The mice glanced at each other. Then, the head of her Mice Guard, Spikes, spoke up, sounding like he was trying hard not to laugh. "Your Highness, it is our duty to follow you, not the dryad healers. But perhaps you'd like to go back to them? They'll be worried soon."

Lucy made a split second decision then, returning the horn to her boot, wondering if Spikes had recognized it yet in the darkness. "No, I'm going on. You should go back."

The mouse shook his head obstinately. "My lady, pardon me, but it is our duty to stay with you and protect you. We will not leave you now. It would be dishonorable."

Lucy bit her lip, deliberating. "Very well. You may come with me, but we are going to find King Edmund, and nothing you can do will change my mind about that. And I'm not interested in whatever Peter and Susan warned you about letting me do anything foolish."

Spikes hesitated only a moment, glancing at the rest of the guard, and then turned back to her and smiled. "We will accompany you on this search for King Edmund, and will be proud to help you, Your Majesty. However, we will not allow you to do anything to needlessly endanger yourself, or we return to Cair immediately. We will not attempt a rescue without backup. The moment we locate Edmund, we will call for help."

Lucy smiled. Maybe this would go better than she had originally thought. "Then we'd better get going."

ǁ

_The Witch leaned down before him, gracing him with an icy smile. She cupped his bloody chin in her hand, feigning concern. "Little one. So cold. Come and sit with me." She twisted his head savagely, and suddenly he was staring at the four thrones of Cair._

_They were empty._

_Desperately, Edmund called out for Peter, for Susan and Lucy. He was met with a deathly silence. "Aslan!" Even Aslan was gone. Either dead or not listening to him, he didn't know which, and frankly, it didn't matter. _

_A laugh washed over him, amused by his panic, milky and too sweet. "After all, I have no one else to be my little king."_

"_No," Edmund heard himself whisper, with more conviction than he truly felt. "They can't be dead. They can't-"_

_That laugh again, the laugh that would forever haunt him. "See for yourself, little traitor." _

_Her hand tilted his head, and suddenly he was staring at Lucy, only she was a stone statue now, standing in the little clearing where the Fox had been turned, her eyes wide, and Edmund could feel her fear even though she was no longer living. Susan was beside her, and even the Gentle Queen's arrows had been turned to stone in her own back. _

_One of them was protruding out of her chest, and Edmund could feel tears stinging his eyes. _

_Then there was Peter, but he wasn't a statue. He was lying on the Stone Table, and it was broken but still useable, gasping out his last breaths, the Witch's knife in his gut._

_Edmund wanted to run forward, wanted to hold his brother and save him, but suddenly his feet couldn't move, as if they had been glued to the ground. He struggled, tripping forward and gasping as he hit water. _

_Icy cold water, gushing over his face hard enough to draw blood, it was so powerful. The Waterfall where his siblings had been attacked by wolves._

_Then the water was gone, and he was sitting in a dense forest, tied to a tree. He tried to shout for help, but no sound would come out._

_The Witch was standing before him, her knife raised high above his head, her eyes glinting maliciously. As she was preparing to bring it down, Edmund finally found his voice._

"_How-?"_

_She paused, smirking at him. "How did they die, little king? Braver than you will. Why, you should know the answer anyway. You killed them."_

_He shook his head furtively. "I would never..."_

"_Oh, but you did, with your betrayal, you caused me to find them, and I stabbed the little High King with this knife, just as I am going to kill you."_

_The knife came plunging down then, and there was pain, unbelievable pain..._

Edmund gasped, jerking forward in the chains holding him, heaving in heavy breaths as a wash of terror spread down his injured spine. Sweat broke out on his forehead, despite the freezing dungeon. He waited for a split second, waited for Peter to embrace him and tell him it was only a dream, but it didn't happen and he opened his eyes.

Edmund just barely closed his mouth, biting down hard on his lower lip, before a scream would have split from it.

The Witch could not hear him scream. She had not broken him yet.

Edmund groaned, sagging against the chains holding him. The Witch left him alone ever since their little chat, and he couldn't help but wonder why she had gone to all this trouble to find him only to ignore him.

Her words had threatened so much pain and horror, and he had been preparing himself for it ever since, but the Witch seemed content to leave him down here to rot.

Unless she really was planning on starving him to death. The ogre had fed him after the Witch ordered it, yes, but the food hadn't been fit for a dumb hound. Edmund still felt a little guilty for lapping it up so quickly, like a dog. And he hadn't been fed since, so he could only assume the Witch had decided he wasn't worth feeding.

At the mere thought of food, Edmund's stomach rebelled, and he bent over as far as the chains would allow, dry-heaving. Edmund glanced down at his hands, noticing something rather strange about them. They were turning a pale blue, from being kept down here in the cold for so long.

He suddenly remembered the last time he had eaten; it had been breakfast with his siblings.

Confusion raced through him, and for a moment he couldn't remember how he had gotten here of all places after breakfast. Maybe this was all just a dream, and he would wake up soon.

His siblings...

They were dead! They were killed by the Witch, they were dead, and it was all his fault. Somehow, though he couldn't remember how exactly, he had killed them. Peter, stabbed on the Stone Table meant for Edmund, Susan stabbed with an arrow and turned to stone, and Lucy...kind, beautiful little Lucy...

He felt tears rise in his eyes, unbidden. He should have stayed in bed like Peter and Susan had suggested. He had killed them with his stupidity. They were gone.

Why else was he still languishing away down here? Why wouldn't they have come to save him yet if they still could?

No, no they weren't dead, he tried to tell himself. That had only been a dream, another nightmare. If Peter were here to wake him up like usual, he would know for sure. But for now he needed to trust Peter's comforting words from all the times he had awoken from his nightmares.

"_Only a nightmare, Ed. She can't hurt us anymore. Just breathe. Everything is all right."_

There was a flash of pain from the lashes on his back, jolting him back to the present situation. He glanced over his shoulder at his bear back and wondered when the skin would turn blue from the cold. Soon the wounds would be grossly infected, and then she would return, decide he wasn't worth her time, and turn him to stone like she had his sisters.

It happened enough in his nightmares.

Edmund stiffened. He couldn't let his nightmares become reality. No matter what, he needed to stay alive. Peter was still out there somewhere, alive, and if Edmund could just hold on until he came, Peter would get him out of here. It was his new mantra, and he clung to it like a drowning man.

An image of the waterfall that had nearly claimed his siblings rushed before his eyes, and he clenched his eyes tightly shut.

Of course, not dying meant he would need to get those lashes treated soon.

"So this is it then?" he shouted out into the dungeon, not knowing if anyone could actually hear him. "Do you intend to let me die down here? Because I was under the impression that was supposed to happen at the Stone Table."

He was met only with silence, which, he had to admit, was what he'd expected. Though some small part of him, a part he was hesitant to name, was disappointed.

Then, the ice door to his dungeons slid open, albeit agonizingly slowly, and the dwarf who had whipped him earlier stepped in, mace in hand. His clothes were in tatters, which Edmund didn't remember being the case before, and his frizzy red beard hung down below the waistline of his trousers.

The red dwarf's nose wrinkled at the stench of the room, and he glanced down at the pool of frozen blood around Edmund's feet. Then he glanced up.

The dwarf stared at Edmund, distrust clear in his eyes. "What?" he snapped, his voice harsh and cruel. Edmund couldn't remember him speaking before, when he'd whipped him.

Edmund gulped, knowing the Witch had sent this dwarf in on purpose, and tried to find the courage to speak as he'd been able to do only a moment before. "I..."

The dwarf rolled his tiny, squinting eyes. "Well? Out with it, brat, I've other tasks to complete."

Edmund took a shuddering breath as another waft of pain shot down his spine. "I need you to do something about...my injuries. The Witch wouldn't be pleased if I died of infection before we ever reached the Stone Table, would she?"

The dwarf muttered under his breath, something to the effect of, "Well, I don't think any of the rest of us would mind."

Edmund ignored him.

"Her Majesty, the Queen-" Edmund snorted at that title, thinking how irritated Susan and Lucy would be to hear it, "-gave me no instructions about that."

"The thought probably didn't cross her mind," Edmund gasped out, "seeing as she's so busy trying to take over Narnia."

The dwarf grinned. "And succeeding, I'll say. Your precious High King has yet to find us here. I'd say he's rather daft for not being able to figure it out sooner than this, wouldn't you? Why, by the time he gets here, the Queen'll have an army fit to rival his."

Edmund bent over, the manacles around his wrists protesting by cutting into his skin, and he answered through clenched teeth. "Can you just...do something about it?"

The dwarf sighed dramatically, shifting on his stubby feet. "I will go and inform the Queen of your request. You may take her answer as a yes if I return tonight."

Before Edmund could protest, the dwarf turned on his heel and practically fled the room, the door slamming ominously shut behind him this time.

When he returned, mere minutes later, face grim, he was holding a bucket of water and some bandages. Edmund sighed in relief, unable to hold the noise back.

Complaining bitterly the entire time, the dwarf stepped behind Edmund and began washing his wounds. Edmund hissed, stiffening as the freezing water slapped his already cold skin. It stung. His back arched and the dwarf snapped at him to hold still.

When his lashes had finally been washed and the bandages applied, however crudely, Edmund sagged against his chains once more. The dwarf stepped away from him in disgust, taking the water and excess bandages with him.

Oh, how Edmund wished he could sit down! He was starting to lose feeling in his legs from having to stand up all this time, and his knees were getting weak, his feet scraping against the ground. However, he knew if stopped holding himself up by his legs, his arms would soon be very sore.

Only one thought kept him upright.

His siblings were still out there somewhere, safe. They had to be. Besides, if they were dead, the Witch would have come down here to gloat by now.

Determination swept through him, forcing out the images of his dreams, and, slowly, he straightened up once more.

It was only a whipping, and he had endured her Whip once before. He could do this. Until she pulled out her Knife and ran him through, he could face whatever tortures she threw at him, because he already had, in the nightmares that plagued him at night. And maybe, just maybe, Peter would rescue him from this one just as he had all the others.

ǁ

Peter was pacing, all action now, seemingly broken from his earlier stupor. He raked a hand through his shaggy blond hair, turning to Oreius. They were standing in a hastily erected war tent, just North of the Witch's castle. More than ten thousand Narnians were setting up tents just outside, in the glade they were effectively nestled into.

The tent was made of a dark red fabric, and was serving both as the war council and as Peter's private sleeping quarters. There were two talking hounds outside, standing guard despite the huge army surrounding the tent.

The Witch's castle, which they could just view from here, was oddly silent. If Peter didn't trust Oreius with his life, he might have questioned that she was even there at all. It looked abandoned, as it had for the past five years. Mostly melted, especially at the top, with those metal spires sticking out of the roof. Surely, if the Witch had returned, the castle would also have returned to its former glory, would it not? He knew how she loved a good performance.

But that was just it. She was not announcing her presence, and not a soul seemed to stir within or near her castle. Her magic, despite bringing on the cold, didn't seem to be restoring her castle, at least not on the outside. Something was suspicious here.

Oreius had advised they sneak around the Witch's castle and attack her from the Northern side, so as to surprise her.

Peter wasn't sure if anything could surprise her, but he had agreed with their first action of war against the Queen. He found he could not condone the second. "I will not full-on attack the Witch's castle and destroy it while Edmund is still in there."

Oreius and the rest of his war council-two more centaurs, a few unquestionably loyal dwarves, a falcon, and Edmund's friend cougar-all exchanged glances.

It was the cougar who broke the awkward silence first. "My lord, I would be the first to die for Edmund. He is my friend and king. But we do not even know if the Witch actually has him, and if she does, if she is keeping him there-"

"He's in there," Peter snapped, suddenly furious. "I know it." He still hadn't explained to them how he knew this; he couldn't bring himself to tell what he had done to the hag. Not even Oreius had found out yet, and he knew the tale would offer his own opinion credibility, but he couldn't. Couldn't bring himself to say what he had done in cold blood.

The falcon sighed. "Your Majesty, if we can take the castle and destroy the Witch and her army, we will be able to free Edmund easily."

"Not if she kills him while we're fighting her army," Peter shot back.

The war council exchanged those looks again, eyes saying to the High King what they could not. _He may already be dead. Would you have us endanger Narnia for another moment in the hope that he is still alive after being a prisoner of the Witch?_

Peter flopped down into a chair that was quickly pushed forward by one of the centaurs lest he miss it. He rubbed his temples, and Oreius stepped forward boldly.

"What would you have us do then, Your Majesty?" he demanded.

Peter let out a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. "We wait on the attack." He barely registered the groans of his councilors. "At least until Lucy has returned to Cair and Susan comes to report that she has blown the horn."

Susan had stayed behind at Cair to await Lucy's arrival, and to keep at least one monarch at the stronghold of Narnia. She would blow the horn while she was there, and when Lucy arrived Susan would leave Cair with more soldiers and join Peter. Lucy, they'd decided for the youngest sibling in her absence, would stay at Cair. It would remain heavily guarded.

Assuming Lucy made it back okay. She hadn't returned on the night she was supposed to, and still wasn't there the next morning when Peter and the majority of the army had left. Peter swore, if anything had happened to her, too...

"Very well, Your Majesty, we will wait," the cougar spoke up, though he did not sound at all pleased.

Peter nodded once, and then gestured for them all to leave him alone and return to their duties. They did, however slowly, as if they were afraid to leave Peter's side. Oreius was the last to go, placing an arm on Peter's shoulder and squeezing it gently as he vacated the tent.

"Do not worry, Your Majesty. Aslan sees. Aslan knows. Edmund is in his paws, as is this army." Then he was gone, the tent flap flapping in the wind after him, and Peter was left alone to consider those words.

If only Oreius realized how little comfort those words brought, falling on deaf ears.

Peter did not know how long he waited there, in the silence, tortured. No one came in to bother him, and he could only assume they were heeding his wishes of putting off the attack. He knew it was useless, though.

Soon, Susan would be here, and then he would have no more excuses. He would be forced to attack the castle holding his brother, and he wasn't sure if he could do that.

The Witch would not wait to kill Edmund on the Stone Table if she were cornered this time. She may have before, may have taken the risk of letting him live to keep up appearances and abide by performances. But now, having already faced failure, she would not be so careless.

Suddenly, the flap of the tent flew open, and Peter was rescued from his dreary thought by a raven, flying in and perching on the armrest of Peter's chair, just in front of him. The raven waited patiently for Peter to acknowledge him, and when he did, spoke contritely.

"High King Peter, I bring a message from your sister, the Gentle Queen."

Peter nodded, running a hand through his wavy hair. What could have possibly gone wrong now? He watched as the raven unfurled his wings before speaking.

"Queen Lucy has not yet returned to Cair." Peter's breath caught. "The healers all returned this morning, but Her Majesty and her royal guard were not with them. Queen Susan has sent out a small patrol to search for her, but can hardly spare a single creature in her efforts to get the rest of the army together."

Peter took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. He stood, slowly, as if it caused him great pain to do so, and walked to the edge of the tent, lifting the flap and glancing outside at the men, training dutifully. The sound of swords clanging and weapons being forged was almost welcome, where a moment ago it had not been.

Oreius was out there, shouting instructions to his men. Peter really needed to look over the plans, make a solid one besides simply attacking the Witch. He turned back to the raven.

"But she has blown the horn, yes?" At least if she had done that, they could have hope, though he wasn't sure what their hope would be in. Aslan? More children from their world?

The raven glanced down, preening his feathers and not answering for a moment. When he did finally glance up, Peter knew before he spoke what he would say next.

"My King, Queen Susan has searched everywhere. The horn is gone."


	10. Chapter 10

And now for a bit of a change of scene...

Chapter 10

The house of this particular Tarkaan, which could only really be described as a sandstone palace, stood out against the warm sun setting behind it, candles flickering in open windows. The rest of Tashbaan had grown quiet, the throngs of people returning to their homes, the gates closed for the evening. Word of the happenings in Narnia had not yet reached the ears of the Tisroc, or perhaps they would be preparing for a war as well.

As much as the Tisroc hated and plotted against the four barbarian kings and queens, he remembered a time when Narnia had been ruled by the Witch, and would not have been eager to return to it.

However, Tashbaan was silent, business, as usual, waiting until daylight. But at this mansion, granted the tarkaan by the kindness of the Tisroc, may he live forever, night was when most business was conducted.

At least, the sort of business that interested the prisoner being led through Tashbaan's streets to said mansion by two armed guards, his hands bound in front of him with a thick rope. He carried no weapons, hardly a threat to the two guards with spears.

Their prisoner was a young man, perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties, obviously of Calormene blood, though he felt no loyalty towards it. Then again, he felt no loyalty towards anyone, unless they had adequate pay. Save one person.

He was wearing a short turban, black like all of his clothes, which must have made him excruciatingly hot, though, if it did, he did not seem bothered by it. He was thin, but the guards had been warned not to underestimate him.

He had spent the last three years slaving in a dwarf mine, after all. If he could survive that, he must have been a direct descendant of Tash himself.

The dwarf mine, complete with twelve dwarves to make sure the work was carried out properly, had been a gift from the Barbarian Queen of the North to the Tisroc's son, and despite her purpose for it being to simply produce gold and good favor between the two countries, the mine was used to carry out the sentences of murderers and thieves. Of course, it also produced gold. Most of the miners sentenced did not last a year.

There were no people crowding Tashbaan's usually busy streets at this time of night, and the silence was almost frightening in so large a city. All the kiosks and booths usually bunched against the street sides had been removed, significantly widening the road.

The odd troop reached the gates leading into the inner sanctum of the tarkaan's mansion, where only true nobles should go. The iron gates blocked off that part of the mansion from the kitchens, stables, and servants' quarters. The guards were silent, faces set in stone, and the prisoner had not spoken a word since being led out of the dwarf mines.

One of the guards stepped forward, swinging open the gates, and their prisoner was given a rough shove forward. He lost his balance for a moment, tripping forward, before being yanked upright by his bonds.

The rusty iron gates shut ominously behind them. The trio started forward again, down long hallways more richly decorated than the part of the house they had just come from. Jewels hung from the walls, sparkling in the light of the torches hanging by them.

There were twelve more halls to go through, as well as a set of stairs, before the guards finally led the bound man into a small room, hidden in a nook of the mansion that few ever entered. One of the guards opened the door and fell prostrate to the floor, his boots sticking out close enough for the prisoner to kick, though he forced himself to refrain from doing so.

Whoever was inside said something, and the guard answered in a tone filled with fear.

Then the guard returned, and grabbed hold of the bound man's arm, yanking him inside the little room.

The prisoner felt a flutter of annoyance run through him. It was his most common emotion; indeed, most of the others had been shoved down long ago.

The room was richly furnished, just like all the other rooms in this part of the tarkaan's dwelling. There was a long black rug made of fur on the floor, and an animal skin hanging from the far wall. A lounging chair and a settee graced the middle of the room, a wooden table between them. A plate of exotic fruit rested on the table.

In the tall-backed chair sat the owner of all this, fingertips rubbing together, a cold smile on his features. There were no other people in the room.

The tarkaan sat expectantly, like he was waiting for the prisoner to bow. When the man did not, the tarkaan let out something like a sigh. He gestured for the prisoner to sit down on the settee and offered him a fruit, both of which the man refused.

With a flash of annoyance running through his eyes, the tarkaan motioned to the guards. They promptly shoved the bound man to his knees, but he would go no farther. Again, the tarkaan offered the fruit. Again, the prisoner refused, smelling the foul stench emanating from it.

With a shrug, the nobleman said, "Well, I think I'll have one." He picked up a mango and brought it to his lips, biting deeply so that a bit of the juice dribbled down his chin. The fruit he offered the prisoner was tossed behind the couch.

The prisoner waited, hands clasped before him in silence. The guards each held a hand on one of his shoulders, and they had not bothered to loosen his bonds.

"I wish to hire you because I have heard that you are the best there is in Calormene, O awe-inspiring hunter," the tarkaan said finally, setting the half-eaten fruit back into the bowl. The prisoner, once a bounty hunter by trade, let out a noise conveying his disgust. "And I need the best."

"Might I ask, O Great One, what it is you need my services for?" the hunter spoke, more like a statement than a question.

The tarkaan sighed again, his eyes clouding over as he thought. "You were thrown in the dwarf mines for murdering men of the Tisroc, may he live forever."

"I kill a lot of people, lordship," the hunter replied, glancing up at him, and the Tarkaan's nose flared in annoyance at the lack of proper flattery. This hunter was a Calormene, after all. He should certainly know better.

"Very well. I have a proposition for you, bounty hunter." The man closed his eyes for a moment, as if willing down his anger, though the bounty hunter sensed that it was not at himself. When he opened them again, those eyes were dark. "I sent for you because I desire your tracking skills, not your skills as an assassin. If you accept this job, I will see that your sentence is removed and you will be free. You will also be amply rewarded. However, not a soul must know of your purpose."

The bounty hunter raised a brow. "I am listening, O Esteemed Tarkaan."

"You see, I recently lost a slave boy, about twelve or thirteen years in age. I am almost certain that he ran away to the North, as most of those foolish slaves try to do, and I want you to retrieve him for me." The tarkaan's eyes left no room for questioning, not used to being refused.

The bounty hunter's forehead wrinkled in bewilderment. "I must confess, O Voluminous One, that I feel somewhat offended by your offer. What is the life of one slave boy? Send your dogs after him, and have him dragged back." No one ever spoke to this particular tarkaan like that, but the bounty hunter had nothing to lose, he supposed.

"I am willing to pay you whatever sum you require to fetch me back this boy. I will also see to it that your sentence in the dwarf mines is lifted. However, if you refuse, I will see to it that are you killed in the morning. No one will care," the Tarkaan smirked, his voice whining now, suddenly desperate. "He is invaluable to me, this slave boy."

The bounty hunter froze. "Whatever sum?" he repeated, suddenly interested. He did not care about death; indeed, he had lost the fear of death long ago, but the thought of leaving the mines and being paid was appealing, at least.

The Calormen bit his lip, and then nodded. "Just bring me back the boy."

The bounty hunter considered this. A thousand questions ran through his mind. In any other circumstance, he would have forced them back down, but he had nothing to lose now. "What is he to you, then?"

The potential employer bristled, angry at not being addressed properly as well as at having his motives questioned. "That is none of your concern."

The bounty hunter lifted his bound hands. "I will not take the job until I know why you want this boy so badly. I have never seen a slave master so concerned about getting back one slave, certainly not a master as powerful as yourself. Aside from that, whatever information you may tell me will be helpful in retrieving him."

The Calormen nodded sadly, clasping his hands together, frowning. He looked rather nervous, and his upper lip was sweating. "Fine. But what I tell you must never be repeated."

The bounty hunter smiled, eyes flashing. Sometimes satisfying curiosity was more important than payment, to his mind. "Agreed. Who would I tell?"

The tarkaan nodded to the guards again. One of them stepped forward and cut loose the bounty hunter's hands, then they both bowed low before their master and disappeared out the door.

It was not until after the door was shut and the tarkaan stood and paced for a full minute that he spoke. Then he began to pace across the rug.

The bounty hunter stayed kneeling, finding it in his best interest to remain so.

"This boy I am sending you after is my bastard, child of a Northern slave woman. He was born just after an alliance was agreed to between my house and the house of the woman I was to marry. I could not bring myself to kill him when he was born, as Tash the Inexorable would have it, so I kept him as my son's Whipping Boy. He knew not of his heritage, but as you can see, this would put me in a very awkward position if the truth were ever discovered. If he makes it to Archenland, I fear that his mother's family will find him, but I still cannot bring myself to have him killed. Bring him back to me alive, bounty hunter, and you will have more gold than you have ever seen."

The bounty hunter didn't wonder what had happened to the woman, the boy's mother. He knew there were many wealthy men in Tashbaan who took barbarian women as slaves. Still..."I will do this thing for you. Tell me, what does the boy look like?"

"He is pale, being half-barbaric. But he has dark hair and dark eyes, and his skin is rather tan this time of year, in the hot sun. Almost enough to make him seem like a proper Calormen. Takes after his sire in that way, I suppose, though he is too much of a cowardly child to take after me in anything other than appearance. He is thin, and quiet. Is that enough for you, O Promising Hunter?"

The bounty hunter's lip curled, disgusted that this man, one of the most influential people of Calormene, had slept with a barbarian, and found compassion for the barbarian bastard. "And what will you do with him when I return him to you, O Exalted Judge?"

The tarkaan shook his head. "That is truly none of your concern. Suffice to say that I want him back alive and uninjured. Now, will you take the job, or shall I be forced to remove your head from your shoulders for the knowledge you have just learned?"

The bounty hunter smiled. "I will do this thing for you, O Great One, have no doubt. The boy will be returned to you within a month's end, if he has gone to the North. Sooner, if he is still in Tashbaan, although I doubt it. But I have one question. How do you know I will not simply escape to the North and never return? I would be free."

His employer smirked. "I highly doubt a man like yourself could bear to remain in the Barbarian Wastelands, even if it meant your freedom. Besides, I have it on very good authority that you will not fail me."

He clapped his hands and suddenly the door opened again. A young woman walked in, her face veiled in red silk, matching what little clothing she was wearing, her stomach and feet bare. Her dark skin glistened in the candlelight, and the bounty hunter thought he saw the outline of a mauve bruise on her leg, through the nearly translucent silk.

She kept her eyes and head downcast as she nimbly stepped further into the room.

She had not seen the bounty hunter, but the moment he laid eyes on her, the man stiffened, cursing his weakness. He paled at the sight of her face.

The tarkaan reached up and lifted the veil from her face, revealing it. There was a golden crown holding the veil to her head. A gold circlet also enclosed her hips. Her dark brown eyes lifted behind stunning long lashes for a fleeting instant, meeting the hunter's gaze. They widened in recognition, and then just as quickly lowered again. A slight flush tainted her cheeks.

The tarkaan took another step towards her, entirely too close, and ran a gentle thumb down her cheek. The girl shivered beneath his touch and flinched away.

Irritated, the tarkaan slapped her and she fell to the ground with a huff, landing in a tangled heap on the ground, her eyes locking on the bounty hunter once more.

The tarkaan rolled his eyes, clapping his hands loudly enough for the guards waiting outside to hear. His eyes were twinkling at the bounty hunter's reaction, and he knew then he'd won. The man had tried to hide it, but the tarkaan was not a fool, and he had planned this carefully. The bounty hunter would not fail him, and the boy would be returned.

A guard walked in and grabbed the girl's smooth arm, yanking her roughly back out of the room. Seeming to realize the desperation of her situation only at that moment, the girl let out a loud, terrified scream before the door slammed, and she was gone.

The bounty hunter stared at the shut door long after the sounds of her struggle with the guards died out. He didn't trust himself to look at the man in front of him.

"This slave girl has been nothing but trouble for me, the past few years," the tarkaan told the hunter plainly, and, with a sigh, he turned forward once more. "She ran away a few months ago. I would have killed her for running from me, but then I found out who she was, and I found a better way to punish her."

The tarkaan grinned, throwing a bag of gold at the bounty hunter's knees. The bounty hunter picked it up and glanced inside, but his face betrayed nothing now, the same mask it had been when he walked in.

"How did you find her, if I may ask, O Fearsome Judge?" the bounty hunter at last demanded, voice bland.

It should not have been so easy to find her. He had made sure of that before entering the mines. His last promise to a sickly mother who was now surely dead.

This was why he hated weakness. He had worked so hard to eradicate all weaknesses from his life, but still familial ties destroyed everything he had given up to become what he was now.

"You will be paid the rest upon completing your task, bounty hunter. You leave in the morning. Tell my men if you need anything," the bounty hunter responded, avoiding his question. "Do not fail me, or the girl will die. If you return without the boy, or he is dead, then I will sacrifice her to Tash the Majestic."

The bounty hunter bowed his head as he stood to his feet. "It will be done."

The tarkaan squinted at him. "See that it is. And I trust you understand the importance of secrecy about such a quest."

"Of course, O Noble One."

The tarkaan clapped his hands again, and the bounty hunter flinched, expecting the guards to drag the girl back in. They did not, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure if he could face her, after all this time. Especially knowing that his occupation, something she had always disapproved of along with their mother, might cost her life.

Not that he would allow that. After all, this was a simple mission. How hard could it be to find one boy slave in the North?

The tarkaan gestured to the bounty hunter, and the guards looked at him in disgust. "Give this man whatever he needs."

"Yes, my lord." They waited for the hunter to stand before escorting him out of the room. He would be leaving at nightfall, not wishing to delay a moment longer than necessary.

Please review! I haven't been getting very many reviews lately, and I would love to know your thoughts!


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Two days before the events in Calormen...

_The White Witch stalked into the icy dungeons, head held high and unforgiving, wearing a blue-white gown that hid her feet. The sound of her heavy, angry footsteps yanked Edmund out of his melancholy thoughts, and he glanced up. _

_Her wand was in her hand, twirling around her fingers as she took another step forward, towering over Edmund and glaring down at him. _

_Edmund shuddered despite himself, rubbing absently at his shackled ankles. He chanced a look at Mr. Tumnus, Lucy's friend, who was watching with obvious fear in his eyes. Mr. Tumnus, who was here because of him..._

_Oh, if he could go back in time now, if only he had never been so foolish._

"_My police tore that dam apart," The Witch interrupted his guilty thoughts with a shout, eying him coldly for any sign of guilt. When she found only that same expression of melancholy, her face pinched into an angry scowl._

_Edmund jumped at the tone of her voice. She was angry, but for what, he couldn't imagine. She had gotten to his siblings. He'd been an idiot, telling her where they were. Her "police." She'd sent the wolves after them, and it was all his fault. _

"_Your little family was nowhere to be found," the Witch continued, anger seeping into her words. Anger that was the color red, though Edmund had always, before this, imagined it as blue. Her hands fingered the wand again, as if she were debating using it on him now. _

_Edmund swallowed, ducking his head and hoping the relief he felt wasn't showing on his face. Or, at the very least, that she hadn't seen it. They had gotten away! They weren't there. He hadn't been the cause of his siblings' death. _

_The relief soon turned to despair a moment later. The White Witch, as he had taken to calling her in his mind now, instead of "Your Majesty," was furious. She would believe Edmund had lied to her. _

_A tendril of fear snaked down his spine at the thought of what she might do to him. Of what she had already done to him. _

_She grabbed him, yanking him into the air and off his feet. He gasped for air and it felt like she was choking him to death._

_He didn't hear her next words. At least, not clearly. The images of stone statues and dead bodies somehow blocked it out, and his thoughts were screaming at him, illogically, Susan would point out, considering his chains, to run. _

_Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Mr. Tumnus grow increasingly nervous. The fawn gave Edmund a look that was probably supposed to convey encouragement when he saw the human boy looking. Whatever the Witch had planned for him, for failing her, would not be pleasant. _

_He licked his dry lips._

_He looked back up at the Witch. Her eyes weren't ice anymore, but fire reflected in them and somehow that was even more terrifying. Edmund shrunk away._

_He knew what she wanted, what she had asked, even if he hadn't heard. Because for some reason that he didn't really understand, she wanted them dead. She wanted them all dead._

_The only reason Edmund was still alive was because she thought he was withholding information from her. And Edmund wouldn't part with that information, even if it meant his own life was forfeit. Not now, that he had seen how evil she was. He'd already been a fool to do so once._

"_I don't know," he whispered out hoarsely, lifting his chin defiantly, hoping she would believe him. He didn't know if his siblings could make it to this Stone Table and Aslan or not, with the Witch chasing them. Perhaps they would make it because he kept silent, and live. Perhaps it was too far away and the White Witch would stumble upon them, or worse, her wolves. _

_Either way, Edmund would not be the one to cause their deaths, no matter how much death terrified him. They were his siblings, after all, no matter how angry he was at them before. That anger was gone now, replaced only with...regret. Regret over what he had done, his betrayal._

_The Witch studied him for a full minute. Her eyes changed color as they bore into his own, turning black then red then yellow. He balked at the sight, shrinking away from her as far as his chains would allow. His airways constricted tightly once more before she dropped him. He doubled over in pain, lying helplessly curled into a ball at her feet. At her mercy._

_The fawn was holding his breath, knowing what was coming but unable to stop it._

_Edmund closed his eyes, fully prepared to die despite the terror fluttering in his chest, beating erratically._

_Then the White Witch raised her wand above her head without pity. "Then you are of no further use to me," she informed the human boy._

_The wand came flying through the air, so fast Edmund could barely see it through the blur of his own watery eyes, slamming down towards him, the Witch's fiery eyes scalding as the wand that would be his doom came closer and closer to its target-_

"_Wait!" he shouted, fear and some other emotion, one he couldn't quite place, rushing through him. _No, you fool, be silent!_ Something shouted inside him, but he couldn't listen. _

_The wand slowed but continued its descent. "The beavers said something about Aslan!"_

_The wand stopped moving and Edmund allowed himself to breathe again. For some reason it hurt._

_The words were out of Edmund's mouth before he had the time to fully register what he was saying, and his face burned in shame and horror at what he had just done. Once again, to save himself, the price had been his siblings. _I'm sorry, Peter.

_For a moment he didn't understand just what he had done, though. The name of Aslan, the name he had betrayed to the Witch, reminded him of light colors and his sister, Lucy. But he associated it with a terrifying jungle creature, swallowing him up. Why would he want to protect such a creature?_

_Edmund squinted up at the Witch, and for a moment, the smallest moment, she wasn't the Witch, but a different woman. _

_A woman he hardly remembered, with short brown hair and kind eyes. A woman who cared about him just as much as she cared about his siblings, who was always there for him. For some reason, she was important to him, but Edmund couldn't remember why. He didn't know who she was._

_Then, too quickly, she was ripped away from him and the Witch had returned, staring down at him. _

_The look of fear that crossed her face at the mention of Aslan surprised him. It was not altogether unwelcome. _

"_Aslan?" She was growing fuzzy, fading in and out before his eyes. He found himself wishing she would disappear altogether, but she did not. _

"_He's a stranger here, Your Majesty, he can't be expected to know anything," the fawn insisted, but it wasn't the fawn, it was Lucy, pleading with those beautiful brown eyes that could melt almost anyone._

_Everything was a blur after that, spinning and swirling as he choked-choked?- and felt pain that he had no business feeling washing through him. It felt like he was being pressed in on all sides. He could hear screaming, and some small part of him told him it was his own. He let out another scream that neither the Witch or Mr. Tumnus seemed to hear and the world spun faster. He heard the roar of a lion and gasped. _

_The next moment, everything stilled, and Edmund was deposited onto solid ground. He was sitting in the White Witch's sleigh, letting her mop up the sugary mess around his lips with the dwarf's hat. He smiled, liking the feeling of someone taking care of him again. _

_It was the first time since they'd left home that anyone had bothered._

"_You betrayed them, Edmund dear. For sweeties." She was smiling at him, her words coming from far away as she continued to wipe his mouth. Her actions didn't match the accusation in her words, and Edmund shivered at her cool smile._

_The look of betrayal on Mr. Tumnus' face at this news was the last thing Edmund saw before the Witch brought the wand bearing down on him once more._

"_Turkish Delight. Do you like it, my little prince?"_

The wolf cringed as he passed the hallway leading to the dungeons, his ears twitching at the sound of throaty, panicked screaming from inside. Hackles rose on his back.

There was only one prisoner down there that he knew of, the boy King. He didn't know why that fact bothered him so much. The White Witch hadn't taken any other prisoners since her awakening, which surprised him. Before, her dungeons had been always kept occupied. However, he supposed she didn't need any others. This time, she wasn't planning on allowing any who opposed her to live.

As the wolf hurried down the ice hall, he saw an ogre standing guard to the dungeons. The boy inside let out another scream, and the wolf let out a small mewl in response. The ogre remained stoic.

"Stupid human won't shut up," the ogre snapped in answer to the wolf's questioning look. "Been at it all mornin'."

Ailyan, for that was the wolf's name, felt a shiver of guilt at the thought of what horrors the human boy was going through. Perhaps one of the Queen's dwarves was beating him.

"What's being done to him?" the wolf dared to ask, not entirely sure why he cared so much. The boy king was a fool to try and stand against Her Majesty after betraying for her in the first place, and he was paying for it. He should truly have expected no less.

The ogre eyed the wolf as if he thought Ailyan a bit slow. "Nothin'," he responded finally. "The Witch ordered he be left alone...for now. But he hasn't stopped screechin' since I took my post here. I went in to check on 'im earlier. Seemed fine to me."

Just then, another inhuman howl emerged from behind the closed door of the dungeon. Ailyan twitched, but the ogre only slammed his ax against the door and shouted, "Quiet!"

Ailyan lost no love on the Kings and Queens of the Golden Age. His allegiance had always been to the true Queen of Narnia, like his forefathers, and no one had been very accepting of the wolves, after the Witch's demise. Ailyan and his mate had become fell creatures, banished from Narnia on pain of death for their loyalty.

Still, the cries of the human boy plagued him every time he got close enough to hear them. Keeping him here did not serve any purpose as far as the wolf could see. And the poor thing was just a pup, like the boy from Calormen.

The comparison sent another shred of guilt through him.

He had thought that the return of the White Witch would change things, for the better. After all, he had been key in bringing her back. Ailyan had gone down to Calormen and retrieved the human boy. Without his services, the Witch would have never returned. That fact made her oddly more human, less of an all-powerful being in his mind.

She had needed his help, had depended on him, on the hag, and on a sniveling little Calormene urchin for her life. The fantastical Queen of old didn't seem quite so fearsome after that, because after all, what was Ailyan but a lowly Northern wolf?

One would think he would receive at least a little appreciation for it. Instead, he had been completely ignored, not even thanked for his services, his mate sent away on some mission that he wasn't even allowed to know about. The hag who had performed the spell to awaken the Witch had died in Cair's dungeons. And that Calormene boy...

The human pup let out another gut-wrenching scream from the dungeons, and Ailyan couldn't help but wonder if the Witch ever rewarded those she depended on.

_ǁ_

Lucy glanced back at her little trail of talking mice, offering them a cheeky smile. Spikes did not return the smile. He kept glancing behind them with a concerned look on his face, as if he expected the Witch to come out and attack them at any moment.

Lucy couldn't deny that she was nervous, afraid even, but she wouldn't allow it to deter her. Edmund needed to be rescued, and Aslan would protect her until then. Finding her brother was the most important thing right now. If Edmund could only come back they would be together again, and then it would be simple, defeating the White Witch. Everyone else seemed to think the only way they would get Edmund back was if the Witch was already defeated, just like they seemed to think they were on their own, Aslan no longer helping. But the Witch only had a chance to win if she killed-

No, she wouldn't think of that. Edmund would live. Aslan would return before that.

The sight of Jadis' castle, abandoned these five long years, was enough to make anyone nervous. Lucy was tempted to reach for the horn and blow it now, before it was too late. Something within her screamed for her to give up on Edmund, to turn around and go somewhere safe while she still had the chance.

But the valiant side of Lucy won out, and she refused to back down. Not when she was so close; she could practically feel Edmund's presence within that castle.

"Here," Lucy said, stopping so suddenly one of the mice behind her ran into her boots. The other mice ground to a halt behind the first before they tripped as well.

She had stopped at the top of a small cliff. If Lucy squinted, she could see movement around Jadis' castle from here.

If she knew that her brother's army lay on the other side of the castle, shrouded by a valley and impossible to see from here, she might not have gone through with what she was about to do. Then again, maybe she would have still.

Lucy laid down flat against the grass, motioning for the mice to do the same. They followed her lead, flopping down and gazing at the castle beyond.

"Spikes, can you see anything?" she whispered to the mouse captain as he settled into the grass beside her.

Spikes was holding an eye-glass, too small for Lucy, but big enough to let him see the castle's gates clearly. As he held it to his eye with his paws, Lucy couldn't help inwardly reflecting how absolutely adorable he looked. She would never have said so, of course. Spikes would have thought this the highest offense.

"Nothing moving in the castle or on the castle grounds, my lady," he reported. Lucy's forehead wrinkled at how strange that was. "And...ah!"

She slid closer to him, wishing she could see through the eyeglass for herself. Or that she'd had the presence of mind to bring one of her own when she left Cair. "What is it?"

"There's a creature...no, that's impossible." She was tempted to rip the little eyeglass out of his hands. He turned away from it and stared up at her, mouth open a little wider than usual. "I just saw nothing, and then there was a creature, as if it appeared out of the air. It's coming our way."

Lucy bit her lip in worry. "What manner of creature was it?"

"A badger I believe, my lady." Spikes squinted into the eyeglass once more.

It saddened her that a badger would have joined the Witch. She had always believed badgers to be wise, kindly creatures. But she must go through with her plan now. "Where is it going?"

"Into the forest."

Lucy leapt to her feet, plucking up her dagger from its sheath and starting toward the woods. Spikes let out a long sigh and started after her, along with the other mice. He put away his eyeglass.

"My lady, where are you going?"

She glanced back at her mouse Captain, a look of surprise on her face. "I'm going after the badger. Are you coming with me or not?"

Spikes did not answer her. Instead, his brow furrowing, he responded with a question of his own. "For what purpose?"

Lucy grinned. "Well, it would be better than storming the castle by ourselves, don't you think?"

Spikes looked back at his men, sighed again, and then followed after her. His men made no objection.

It took them a while to catch up to the badger. Tracking and hunting had never been Lucy's strong suit, preferring to go and visit the beavers with Susan while their brothers hunted, but the mice were good at it, and she only needed to follow them.

When they entered the wood, Spikes sidled up to her and whispered, "Your Majesty, I would be grateful if you stayed close enough for me to keep an eye on you."

It felt more like an order than anything, but she agreed. She had never been ordered around by a mouse before. Lucy could hear Edmund's gentle laughter at the idea.

The Valiant Queen held a finger to her lips, warning the mice to be silent. They stalked forward silently, then scampered into the trees and followed her from above. Every once in a while, she glanced up to make sure they were still following her.

When they finally caught up to the creature, she noticed how quickly it was moving towards wherever its destination was. It seemed suspicious, glancing over its shoulder every few minutes and sniffing. But, apparently, the badger hadn't noticed his pursuers yet.

Capturing the badger wasn't as difficult as Lucy had thought it would be. The creature suddenly stopped in the middle of a small clearing, looking around and sniffing. It tensed, and for a moment Lucy thought he would take off.

She glanced up, catching Spikes' eyes. The mouse understood and jumped down from the pine he was currently inhabiting, landing just before the badger with his sword pointed directly at the fell creature's heart.

The fell creature jumped, spinning around only to find himself surrounded on all sides by the mice guard, jumping down from trees by their tails.

Queen Lucy stepped out from behind a large pine, hand on the sheath holding her dagger in threat. The badger reached for his own sword, and was immediately met with six more.

Lucy, feeling guilt about it as she always did when she was forced to use violence, yanked the dagger out of its sheath and held it out toward the badger.

She had not thought the badger would put up a fight. But seeing the Valiant Queen had only strengthened the badger's resolve, it seemed. He swung at Spikes, and the mouse captain just barely managed to duck and avoid being sliced in two, surprise written on his features.

The other mice attacked from behind, boxing the badger in on all sides until he barely had room to move. The sword was knocked out of his paw by Spikes, who tossed it out of reach.

Then Lucy stepped forward, still holding the dagger towards the badger and frowning at the way Spikes and his mice guard had attacked the badger. Yet, she supposed, this was war. Sometimes unfair methods had to be used, as much as she disapproved of them.

"Surrender," Lucy said, hating the way her voice faltered as she said the word.

The badger let out a long, heavy breath and lowered his head.

Spikes took this as a sign of surrender and charged forward with two of his mice, tackling the badger to the ground and holding him down. Rope that Lucy hadn't known the mice had was suddenly wrapped around the Witch's agent, pinning him to the ground as the mice pulled back.

"Tell us where you are going and what your purpose was," Lucy said, taking another step forward, until she was standing over the badger. She hoped she looked intimidating enough to induce him to speak, but highly doubted it was so.

"You might as well kill me," the badger hissed out through clenched teeth, squirming against the bonds holding him. "I will never tell you anything that would betray my Queen."

Spikes raised his sword, willing to take the badger up on that offer, but Lucy lifted her hand, palm flat. Spikes settled for glaring at the fell creature.

Delicately, Lucy sank down into the grass next to the badger and offered him her kindest, sincerest smile.

"Please," she pleaded. "I just want to know where my brother is. Surely you can tell me that. King Edmund the Just?" As if he didn't know to whom she was referring.

The badger, despite his bonds, somehow managed to throw his head back and laugh. Spikes' sword pressed into the fur at his neck. It wasn't all Spikes wanted to know. His duty was to King Edmund, but it was also to protecting Narnia. But he would get to that later, if the badger proved willing to speak.

"Where is King Edmund?" Lucy demanded. "Please, I just want to know. He's my brother." Her voice sounded so young and hopeless that Spikes had to force himself not to run the badger through then and there for causing her such pain.

The badger glared at her, refusing to answer.

Spikes had enough of this. He pressed his small sword further into the badger's neck, until the animal gasped, his back arching in pain.

Lucy glared at Spikes, but then the badger was talking and her anger at Spikes' treatment of their prisoner was forgotten.

"King...Edmund the Just? Not anymore. He's nothing...but a prisoner in Her Majesty's dungeons. Wallowing away until she has a use for him," the badger gasped out, apparently deciding the information not worth his pain.

"So she does have him," Lucy said, inwardly disgusted that the badger chose to gloat about this. At least now she knew for sure, though, what had become of her brother. At least now there were no more doubts, no more wishing. "And he's alive."

The badger glowered at her before conceding, "He is. But just barely. She plans to kill him on the Stone Tale for betraying her."

Lucy's forehead crinkled at this. "But Aslan already paid the price on the Stone Table for Edmund."

The badger shook his head, gasping as the small pin-like sword pressed into him. He didn't quite understand her reasoning behind it, but the badger knew this was what his Queen had planned. Everyone knew. "She will kill him on the Table anyway."

"Where is he being kept?"

"Alone in her dungeons. She has a constant guard on him all of the time. You would never be able to rescue him," the badger said, the last bit sounding like gloating.

Lucy chewed on her bottom lip. Then, "Let him stand up. He's told us what I asked."

"But, Your Majesty-" Spikes argued.

Lucy gave him a look.

Spikes ignored her, shocking the Queen, badger, and his own mice guard as, instead, he pressed the knife further into the badger's neck. "Why is there no movement in the Witch's castle? What is she planning?"

The badger blinked. "What are you speaking of? Of course there is movement in the Queen's castle."

Lucy and Spikes exchanged glances. "We've been watching for a while now, and there is absolute stillness. You...appeared out of nowhere. We assumed you had some sort of concealing enchantment on you."

"Oh. That." The badger sounded almost embarrassed that he had forgotten. "Yes, when she arrived here Her Majesty set a concealing spell on her castle, so that you and your 'High King' wouldn't learn of how large her army was. I assumed she had taken down the spell when your army arrived. There was no reason to hide it anymore. You obviously know where we are. Apparently she did not."

"Our Army?" Lucy echoed. Spikes raised his eyebrows at this news.

The badger rolled his eyes. "Don't expect me to believe that little act," he snapped. "You must know about the Imposter High King's army, camped just on the other side of Her Majesty's castle. Why else would you be stalking about out here?"

"I..." Before Lucy could properly answer him, the woods erupted with fell creatures, jumping out from behind trees and logs, axes and swords raised in attack. A minitor swept up one of the mice before they could react, neatly breaking his neck and tossing him aside.

Lucy jumped to her feet, screaming as the little mouse hit the ground a mere pace away from her, dead instantly. The other mice leapt to attention, forming a circle around their Queen and backing away as the fell creatures cut the badger free and he disappeared into the forest.

Spikes couldn't believe he had been such a fool to lower his guard. Obviously this had been a trap from the start. The fell creatures were closing in on him, and he knew they must have every intention of destroying them immediately.

"Protect the Queen!" he shouted to one of his mice, before rushing forward with a battle cry and attacking a hyena with his little sword. For the first time in his life, he was aware of how small and insignificant it seemed when it was one of the only things standing in between these foul creatures and his Queen.

He and his fellow mice fought bravely against the much larger, fell creatures, but he knew it was no use; there were simply too many of them for the mice and Queen Lucy to win this victory.

Queen Lucy swept up her dagger, no longer feeling guilty about using it. She seemed to be holding her own against the hag fighting her until the vile creature suddenly sliced into her right forearm, causing the dagger to fall to the ground wit a thud. It hit the grass and seemed to vanish beneath the leaves and pine needles.

Lucy let out a cry of pain as a thin trail of red blood leaked across her arm. She looked down frantically for the knife. The hag advanced on her now, leering in victory. Lucy stumbled backward, tripping and falling onto her bottom.

Spikes turned away from the minitor he had been fighting, rushing forward on instinct to the Queen's defense.

The hag raised her weapon high above her head, about to bring it barreling down on the youngest Queen of Narnia when Spikes just managed to reach her.

He shoved the hag, causing her to lose her concentration on Lucy, but, sadly, not her balance, and the creature swirled around to face him. They engaged in a fierce power struggle over the hag's weapon for a full minute before Spikes pulled it away from her and tossed it aside.

It was much heavier than he thought it had looked, in the hands of the hag.

The hag shrieked, lunging at him, but Spikes ran her through without a second's delay, and the creature fell to the ground, glassy eyes wide with shock.

"Killed...by a mouse," he heard her mutter before falling silent for the last time.

He turned to Lucy then, smiling smugly at his victory. She was watching him with horror, eyes wide. Her hand covered her mouth, and a stray tear had slipped down her cheek.

"Spikes!" she shouted.

Spikes didn't understand why his killing the hag had upset her so. She had been in battles before; surely she...

He had forgotten about the minitor he was fighting earlier, in his haste to save Queen Lucy from the hag.

Looking down with apprehension, Spikes discovered the spear sticking out of his side, gushing blood into the leaves beneath him. He looked up and his eyes locked with Lucy's for one moment before he was tumbling to the ground, and Lucy was screaming his name. Several of his mice glanced up in worry, and saw their captain hurtling towards the ground, blood pouring out of his side.

The minitor stood over him, yanking his spear out of the little mouse and turning to another. He didn't seem concerned with Lucy, lying defenseless on the ground...

But she wasn't defenseless, Spikes remembered, thinking of Queen Susan's magical horn, hidden away in her boot.

As he lay in the leaves, sure that he would be dead any minute now, he turned his head to Lucy, who looked on the verge of tears at the sight of him. Behind her, he could see another two more members of his mice guard, lying dead.

"Your Majesty," he wheezed out, finding it extremely painful.

Lucy sat up, leaning forward and straining to hear him.

He could have apologized for failing her, as he wished to do. He knew he had brought great shame to his kind. Mice had only won the right to become more than dumb animals after freeing Aslan at the Stone Table, and he still believed it needed to be earned. But he had failed Queen Lucy while his brothers had helped Aslan! Shame swept through him.

He ignored it, clenching his teeth and blurting out, "The Horn!"

Lucy's eyes widened in realization at his words. Her hands immediately reached for her boot, and she pulled the white horn out of it. The minitor turned from his current mouse opponent, as did several of the other fell creatures, and their eyes widened in fear.

Spikes decided dying was worth it, to see such a look on the faces of the Witch's soldiers in response to little, sweet Queen Lucy.

The minitor lumbered forward, intent on getting the horn away from Queen Lucy before she had the chance to call for help.

Lucy lifted the horn to her lips and blew into it. The sound it made reverberated through the trees, causing all of the Witch's soldiers to flinch and Spikes to inwardly cheer, although he had lost too much blood to actually cheer. The sound the horn made seemed to echo through the forest like a wave.

And deep in Calormen, a criminal bounty hunter was pulled out of a dwarf mine and thrown before the feet of a wealthy Tarkaan.

The minitor shoved the horn away from Lucy's lips, and the sound abruptly stopped as the horn tumbled to the ground. Then the fell creature knocked Lucy over the side of the head, and she fell unconscious at once, blood dribbling down her forehead from the force of the hit.

Spikes felt tears blurring his vision, and he was furious. He needed to pay attention; he needed to see what was going on. Blood stained his fur, growing sticky in it. He needed to protect Queen Lucy...

The mice guard lay dead in the leaves beneath the canopy of trees as the minitor pulled Lucy up off the ground and flung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The horn was handed off to a wolf, who held it between his teeth like it was a great source of discomfort.

The fell creatures were about to start off, the minitor carrying their only burden, back to the Witch's castle. The minitor turned to the fox at his side.

"Make sure they're all dead," he ordered.

The fox bit back a laugh. "They're all dead," he assured the minitor.

"Check," the minitor insisted. "We don't want one getting away to alert their army that we have one of their Queens."

The little Queen moaned in his grip, her head shaking as if she were coming to. The badger, out for a bit of revenge, quickly put an end to that, hitting her over the head once more with his paw. She fell silent and slumped against the minitor's back.

"You did well today, badger," the minitor praised the badger.

"But weren't we risking quite a lot, by allowing him to tell the little Queen?" one of the wolves demanded.

The minitor shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Who will they tell?" he gestured to the mice. "And besides, the little Queen would have found out the truth soon enough, where we're taking her."

The fox sighed, dismayed by his glum task. He walked over to one of the mice, biting it hard in the neck. The dead creature didn't respond and he moved on to the next one.

He bit four more before deciding that was enough, they must all either be dead or close to it.

The minitor, wolves, hawk, and badger were already leaving, and he scurried after them, not wanting to be left behind with the dead in this forest.

And the mice were all dead, as he assumed.

All but one, just clinging to life, but alive.

ǁ

Edmund strained against the chains holding him, his legs finally giving out under him. They scraped against the ice before he collapsed unceremoniously to his knees. The chains holding his arms above his head cut into his wrists at this, and he let out a strangled gasp.

It had been a while since the White Witch was here, and, for reasons beyond him, he was rather disappointed by her absence. No one else, besides perhaps the evil dwarf, ever came to visit him. At least if she was here, he would be fed.

He didn't know how many days had passed since the last time he had eaten. Years, perhaps, of being stuck down here. But then, he would be dead if he hadn't eaten in years.

The guards standing outside the dungeons brought him water once a day, or, at least, he assumed it was once a day. He really had no way of telling anymore.

Food. He could hardly remember the taste of food on his lips anymore. Everything, when he imagined it, seemed too dry and easy to choke on, but it was better than nothing.

Besides, he thought the Queen had ordered he be brought food.

No, she wasn't the Queen; he mustn't think like that. She was the White Witch, and why would she care that he be fed? He should be glad she was leaving him alone. Peter would be thinking up a way to defeat her by now, and all Edmund could think about was food.

He lowered his head in disgust at himself.

But, then again, if he wanted to think of some way to defeat the Queen-Witch, he needed to eat so he could focus. Even Peter wouldn't object to that, surely.

The Just King banged on the wall of ice closest to him with a white knuckled fist, hard enough to cause a trickle of blood to run down his fingers when he pulled away.

"I'm going to starve to death down here!" he shouted, no longer caring who was listening.

He just needed to eat. There had been no food for too long, and all Edmund knew was that he was starving, his stomach was beginning to look strange and distended, and he would eat just about anything right now.

The door opened and the ogre standing guard outside, a fearsome, ugly creature that reminded Edmund all too much of the disgusting creature who had dragged Mr. Tumnus away to be turned to stone in his dreams. No, that hadn't been in his dreams, that had been in real life, he reminded himself.

It really didn't matter, he decided in the next moment. That had nothing to do with the mission: eat, defeat the Witch.

"What do ye want?" the ogre demanded. "I told ye to shut up!"

Edmund decided to try about the same as what he had said before. "The Witch ordered that I be fed! I haven't been, and she'll punish you for it if I die now."

The ogre glowered at him, but obviously believed him more than the last guard had. "Very well. I will go and fetch whatever Her Majesty wishes you to have today." He slammed the door, leaving Edmund alone, and Edmund was almost tempted to call him back, to beg for him not to leave him here.

As he waited, a horrible thought occurred to him. Perhaps the Witch really didn't care whether he was fed or not, and that was why no food had come.

No, she had admitted she wanted him to die on the Stone Table. Surely she would keep him alive until then. He hoped. It was the same mistake she made last time, refusing to kill him until she could properly gloat over his death.

It was a long time before he could make out the lumbering footsteps of the ogre outside the dungeon door, and he involuntarily tensed at the noise. Then there was silence, but he knew the ogre was still outside.

He turned his head towards the door, waiting for it to be opened and for the ogre to grudgingly hand him his supper.

Nothing happened, for a while. Then, a small, trap door that he had never seen before opened at the bottom of the door to the dungeon. It was just large enough for a small creature to fit through.

"Here ye are, Son of Adam!" he heard the ogre shout from outside, and then a covered plate of food was shoved through the trap door. It slid across the icy dungeon at a surprisingly fast speed before coming to a stop at Edmund's knees.

He leaned down, straining against his chains, using his feet to pull the plate closer and somehow managing to push off the white cloth covering it with both feet.

The cloth fell away, revealing the contents on the plate, and suddenly Edmund wasn't so terribly hungry anymore. He recoiled on instinct.

The sight of this particular food made his insides curl until he was sure he was going to dry heave. Scrambling back, he kicked the plate of food across the room, although it didn't go far with his lack of strength.

The plate sat in the middle of the room, just out of reach, taunting him. He clenched his eyes tightly shut and turned away. When he turned back the food was, sadly, still there.

It was Turkish Delight.

A/N: Thank you for all the lovely reviews! That's the most I've had in a while! Sorry about the wait; for some reason I've been having some trouble with this chapter so I skipped ahead to the next few chapters before I came back to this one. Please review and tell me what you think!


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Thank you all for the wonderful reviews, favorites, and follows thus far! Your responses really encourage me to write; please keep it up. I'm sure you already knew that because it's the most cliche thing written in author's notes, but I thought I'd share anyway. Don't worry; I still have many twists and turns for this story's future, and it isn't near finished yet!

On another note, if anyone is in need of a beta reader or knows someone who needs one, feel free to PM me.

Chapter 12

It was almost midnight, and High King Peter was more than a little nervous. The horn was gone, another of his siblings had gone missing, and Aslan was nowhere to be found. For that matter, neither was Archenland. Despite the silence and apparent emptiness of the Witch's castle, Peter knew there was more to all this than it seemed.

No one had seen a single soul enter or leave the Witch's castle in days. The castle still looked abandoned, barely fortified. Peter wouldn't have believed anyone was there at all if it weren't for the scant amount of fell creatures standing guard outside her gates. Still, that didn't seem possible. The Witch he remembered would have attacked them by now, would have shown off her power.

Unless she was waiting for something, as she had waited to kill Edmund, but Peter couldn't imagine what that something was.

"Your Majesty," Oreius interrupted his thoughts, coming over to stand beside him on the small hill overlooking the Witch's castle. Still no movement from within. It was as if she hadn't even seen the army on her doorstep.

Nothing made sense anymore.

Peter sighed. Yes, he knew they should attack, but something-he wasn't sure what-was telling him to wait. He knew that they had agreed to attack in the morning, but something he couldn't quite define was twisting knots in his stomach and making his head pound. He didn't feel sick dread like this before battles. Nerves, yes, but not this. Something was wrong. But truly, what could be worse than this?

"What is it?" Peter demanded, a little snappily, not turning to look at him.

Oreius was silent for a moment. He had probably come to induce Peter to attack under cover of darkness, and that caused a spark of irritation in the High King. He had already agreed to attack in the morning. With another sigh, Peter turned away from the view of the Witch's castle and faced him.

To his surprise, Oreius was not alone. Standing rather indignantly on his back was a mouse, wearing Narnian chain mail and holding a small sword suitable for a mouse. More like a giant pin than a sword. The mouse was brown and had large doe-like eyes. He looked familiar, but Peter honestly couldn't recognize him.

Not under the heavy coat of blood drying on his fur. There appeared to be a ghastly wound in his side, hastily wrapped up with a bloody strip of cloth. He was breathing heavily, and Peter was surprised he had not noticed it before.

The mouse managed impressively to balance himself while he bowed before the High King, tipping a little on the centaur general's back. Oreius moved under him to support him, exchanging a glance with Peter.

"Sire, this mouse wandered into our camp just before nightfall. He refused to get any rest or treatment before speaking with you. He claims he brings an important message...from your sister."

Peter's breath hitched. What now? Had Cair been attacked with only Susan and a small band of warriors to protect it?

"Then let him speak," he heard himself say, numb. The mouse looked terrible, teetering on Oreius' back from the strength it had taken to bow, and for a moment Peter wished to tell him to wait on his news until he was at least looked over by a healer. But then he reflected that the news had to be terribly important, or the mouse would have done that already.

The mouse jumped down from his perch on Oreius' back and fell to the ground. He flinched, and then righted himself, gasping a little. He gave another sweeping bow and laid his sword on the ground at Peter's feet before beginning his tale.

"Your Majesty," the mouse greeted, lifting his head. "I bring grave news. I am Spikes... captain of the guards sent with your sister, Queen Lucy."

At these words, Peter's fists clenched, but his face remained impassive. "Where is she?"

The mouse lowered his head again, in shame. He was eying the sword as if he might use it to run himself through for his failure, and Peter immediately felt guilty for his harsh words. The mouse had clearly been through a horrible ordeal, and was barely staying upright. From the looks of things, he had fought a valiant fight.

Still, the thought that Lucy had been through the same ordeal and was not here was enough to put any sympathy for the creature out of his mind.

"Please, tell me what happened."

The mouse swallowed. "She left the dryads, saying she wanted to find King Edmund on her own. We could not dissuade her course, so my mice and I went with her."

"You let her go?" Peter demanded, horrified.

"She had the Queen Susan's magic horn, my King, and...I will give no excuses. I have failed her, and you, my King, and brought shame to my fellow creatures. But I ask that you hear me out before you decide my punishment."

Peter raised a brow at this. Lucy was fourteen, and hardly ever went off on risky adventures by herself these days! The mouse should never have let her do something this foolhardy...He calmed himself, nodding for the mouse to continue.

Spikes was obviously exhausted, just barely able to keep his head up, but he continued. "We discovered an agent of the Witch in the woods, and managed to take him captive."

So they had been able to capture an agent of the White Witch but could not stop a fourteen year old girl from wandering off into a dangerous situation? Peter's fingernails were biting into his skin from how hard he was clenching them.

Spikes did not seem to notice, looking down at his sword and not at Peter. "The creature told us...under persuasion...that the Witch does indeed hold King Edmund captive and has some sort of spell protecting her castle from the outside, hiding the real size of her army and its restoration. She plans to attack soon, while you do not know her numbers. And I...learned even more disturbing news along my way here."

Peter sighed, mopping his forehead. He could not possibly imagine anything more worse than this.

"I just barely managed to get past an army, hidden a ways to the North of here, beyond the Witch's castle," Spikes gasped, doubling over suddenly in pain. Peter took a step forward, but the mouse held up a hand, begging to continue. "She has bribed the giants of Harfang into attacking from the North, so that your army is trapped between them."

Peter paled at this news, glancing at Oreius for confirmation. Oreius dipped his head, signifying that the mouse had spoken the truth.

"We sent out one of our scouts after hearing of this, as it was the only thing the mouse would tell us without first speaking to you. What he says is true. The giants are descending in many numbers..."

"What happened to my sister?" Peter demanded. "Why is she not with you?"

Spikes bit his lip, glancing down at his sword again in guilt. "I...tried to protect her, my King, as it is my solemn duty. But...we were waylaid by agents of the Witch. It was a trap, I believe, all to take the Queen. We fought them off, and the Queen blew the horn, but there were too many of them." He looked up then, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I was forced to watch as they took away the Queen and killed every one of my mice. I alone survived, barely, but they thought me too close to death to worry. I managed to get up and find my way here. We were not far from this place when it happened." He grimaced a little.

Peter took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. "Thank you, Spikes. You have fought bravely and paid dearly to bring me this news. I will make sure it is used well. You should go and get your wounds tended to."

Spikes didn't move. "My King, please. Dispatch of me. I have failed the Queen, my charge, and my guard. There is no honor left in my life, and it would be better if I were to die, as my guard did." He picked the little sword up off the grass and extended it with both hands to the High King.

Peter knelt down until he was face to face with the mouse. Resting a hand on the injured creature's shoulder, he gently pushed the sword back down into the grass.

"Go and get your wounds tended to, my friend. Tomorrow is a new day. There may still be time to regain your lost honor."

With that, he stood, clearly dismissing the animal. Sighing, Spikes re-sheathed his sword and walked away, back into the camp, leaving Oreius and Peter alone.

"He said it was a trap laid deliberately by the Witch's soldiers. Do you think any of it can be taken seriously?" Oreius ventured to ask after some silence.

Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair. "If it was true, what he said about the giants of Harfang, then I am certain the rest of it is true as well."

Oreius dipped his head. "Then, Your Highness, what do we do?"

Peter took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Has the group we sent to Archenland returned yet?"

Oreius shook his head, long hair shaking with it. "No, my lord. We have gotten no word."

The High King turned around, gazing at the White Witch's castle. A castle that was apparently enchanted to hide what was really going on inside. How...fitting.

"Then there is nothing we can do. We cannot allow the Witch to take back Narnia lying down. For the sake of Narnia, we must attack at dawn. With this number, we will not be able to defeat the Witch's army and the giants both. Send out word for any who are able to lift a sword to come and protect their homeland. Pray that Aslan is with us," he stated ominously, imagining the horrible things his siblings were going through just inside those ice walls.

He didn't know why he had said that last part. He didn't believe Aslan was with them, not this time. Surely if he was, he would have done something by now to stop all of this.

Oreius turned to go, and then stopped, as if he had just remembered something. "My lord, the mouse captain said that Queen Lucy blew the horn before she was taken. Perhaps there is still hope?"

Peter watched as the sun disappeared over the horizon, turning the sky a dull red. Red like the blood staining Spikes' fur. Behind him, the camp was beginning to settle in for the night. He chose his next words carefully.

"We can hope, Oreius. We must hope."

ǁ

Peter awoke the next morning to the sound of Oreius' horn, the feeling of dread that had been plaguing him twisting at his insides and causing his head to feel a bit fuzzy.

He dressed in a dream-like state, not entirely aware of what he was doing, and then called in his servant, a light-haired fawn. The fawn held a bundle of Peter's armor in his arms, cradling it.

Peter stared at the armor for a moment, hesitating. Then he donned the helmet, feeling the thing enclose around his head and for a moment, panicking. Then the feeling was soon gone. He blinked. He had never felt that way about putting on his helmet before.

The faun helped him into the rest of his armor, and then handed him his sword and sheath. Peter plucked it out of his hands, gazing at it for a moment longer than necessary, trying to quell that strange feeling, before buckling it to his belt.

He nodded to the faun. His armor bearer smiled, a bit nervously, and walked to the entrance of the tent, quickly opening it for the High King.

When Peter stepped outside, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. The men making their last preparations for war, perhaps. Certainly not this.

Every Narnian in his army was at attention already, and all who had come during the night, was facing Peter's tent, their heads bowing when they caught sight of him for the first time that morning. They were already wearing their armor and weapons, and the last vestiges of the camp, besides Peter's tent, had been carefully stowed away. The looks on their faces surprised him as well. Even Spikes, the mouse who had served as informer last night, was there, though he lay on a stretcher and was covered in bandages.

Peter hoped he would not have to be the one to tell the valiant little injured mouse that he would not be fighting today.

But it was the golden chariot lying on the grass in front of the troops that caught Peter's attention first. It was beautiful, long and sleek, driven by two white unicorns that made him think back to his last battle with the Witch. The chariot had obviously been polished recently, and it shown in the morning sun.

Peter didn't normally ride in chariots; he preferred horses, preferred to be equal with his soldiers during battles, at least, but this was beautiful. He couldn't held wondering how they had gotten it here without his knowing.

How early had they awoken to prepare for this? How long had he been sleeping?

Peter stood in shocked silence for a moment, unsure how to respond to this honor. Normally, he would have the right words, would thank them for their duty and loyalty and give a speech inspiring them for the battle ahead, but his mind had gone completely blank. Then Oreius was standing beside him, and he found himself grateful for the centaur's presence.

"My lord, your men are ready for battle, ready to follow you to the death for Narnia, if need be."

Peter turned to his General, blinking at him. He was about to respond, about to thank them all.

Then his eyes caught movement just over Oreius' shoulder, to the north, and all thought of a lovely speech to motivate his men vanished.

Spikes had been correct, about the giants of Harfang. They had indeed come to fight at the behest of the White Witch, in numbers even larger than Oreius had described to him.

And they were perched on the edge of the valley, silent as the dead, as if they had been there forever, armed with giant weapons that looked about the size of Peter, some even larger. Their king, a heavyset giant, sat in a giant golden carriage, peering down at Peter and the Narnians in distaste.

He wondered briefly what the Witch had promised the supposedly Gentle Giants to help her. It was not usually their way to war against another nation; they preferred to lie in wait for some innocent to come along that they might feast, and to stay put in their castle.

They had surrounded the encampment in a semi-circle, and Peter was loathe to turn around and see whom was on the other side of the valley.

He turned his attentions back to Oreius, meeting the centaur's eyes, and realized with shock that really shouldn't have been so surprising, that Oreius already knew that they were surrounded. There was no hope of escape.

They would fight today, and they had to win, despite all the odds. For Edmund's sake, and for Narnia's.

Dreading what he would find on the Southern ridge of the valley, Peter turned slowly.

The Witch's army, looking eerily similar to her army five years prior, as it was filled with giants, wolves, and all manner of Fell Beasts, laid in wait on the other side of the valley, but Peter could find no trace of the Witch, which was...strange. Surely she would be out here gloating as well.

He glanced back at the Witch's castle, paling as he saw more soldiers arriving. They were hopelessly outnumbered, thanks to the Giants of Harfang. Even the Narnians who had arrived during the night would not help to even things out.

He found himself wishing that he had waited to attack until Archenland responded.

"They have been there since dawn, Your Highness," Oreius said softly. "They seem to be waiting for something."

Peter reflected with irony that the White Witch certainly enjoyed her dramatic entrances.

Apparently, that something happened to be Peter, for suddenly a lone rider on a small pony descended from the Witch's side, galloping down into the valley.

The Narnian army spun to face this lone attacker, and one of the loyal minitors stepped forward to intercept the rider, but suddenly a voice rung out, "Parley!"

Peter and Oreius exchanged glances. Their situation was hopeless; they were terribly outnumbered. What could the White Witch be up to? She had no reason to negotiate with them.

Peter had a bad feeling about this.

The minitor moved back, allowing the pony through the ranks. It seemed to take an agonizingly long time for the rider to move to the front of the army, but when he finally stopped before Peter, the High King found himself wishing the minitor had run him through.

The dwarf, eerily familiar to the one that had beaten Edmund and stood before the Narnians to announce the White Witch to their camp, slid down from his horse and gave Peter a mocking bow.

He straightened, a stern smirk on his ugly features. He was a red dwarf, his long red beard reaching down to his ankles.

Peter's private guard, made up of mostly wolves, growled as one at the dwarf. He sighed inwardly at the thought that many of the wolves in his army would be fighting kin today.

He ignored them, eyes only for Peter. "I bring a message for the one who calls himself High King of Narnia, from her Majesty, the Queen of Narnia, Empress of the Lone Islands, -"

Peter sighed, stepping forward with his hand resting on the hilt of Rhindon. "What is it?" he interrupted, before the Witch could try and claim any more of his lands.

The dwarf drew himself up to his full height, reaching to Peter's waist, and began to recite, a cocky grin splitting his mouth as he spoke.

"The Queen of Narnia wishes a parley with the one who calls himself High King Peter, for the chance to end all of this with as little bloodshed as possible. You can see-" he gestured to the two armies surrounding them- "that it is in your best interest to do so."

ǁ

When Lucy woke up, she was lying on something hard and cold. For a moment, she thought she had returned to Cair and perhaps fallen asleep on the ivory bench in her favorite garden.

Then she opened her eyes and realized the situation was far more serious than that.

She was lying in the middle of Jadis' ice castle, probably in the dungeons, although she had never been to them before so she couldn't be sure. Her hands were chained behind her back, pressing into the solid ice, but her feet were free. It was cold, far too cold for the clothes she was wearing.

The White Witch was standing above her, smiling in a way that almost seemed manic. Her eyes followed Lucy's every movement with something like glee. Lucy wondered absently if Edmund's nightmares were like this; the Witch looming over him, smiling in victory.

She decided then that she would not allow this Witch victory.

Speaking of Edmund, where was he? She glanced around the dungeon, but he was nowhere to be found. The thought terrified her. Perhaps he was already dead. No, she couldn't think like that.

"Little Lucy the Valiant," Jadis pronounced, still grinning. "The one who started it all. Oh, I was almost tempted to kill you when they brought you here. It would have been fitting. The sibling who unites them all, dead at my hand."

Lucy glared up at her, feeling vulnerable lying on her back on the floor while the woman who had caused Narnia so much pain towered above her. She refused to respond to the taunts. Forcing herself to sit up, Lucy rubbed at her wrists, wincing when the movement stung.

Her hair had fallen out of the tie she had it in earlier, some of it falling in front of her face.

"But I suppose I shall have to have patience for that, as with your dear brother," the White Witch continued, not at all bothered by Lucy's silence. "After all, I shall not have to wait long."

"Aslan will never let you win!" Lucy bit out confidently, the name of the lion causing her to feel slightly empowered. The Witch didn't seem as terrifying as she had when Lucy was nine now.

The White Witch's reaction to the lion's name was enough to make Lucy feel even more confident.

"Do not utter that name in my presence!" she hissed, leaning over Lucy, face twisting with rage. Her hand was itching for her wand, but for some reason, she didn't have it with her. Red blotches stuck out on her porcelain neck. Then, slowly, she calmed until her face had that creepy smile once more.

"He cannot help you, child. Not this time. Narnia is mine. He knows this, or he would have come to your rescue already." She turned on her heel and started for the door.

Lucy was not going to let her get away that easily. "Aslan would never abandon us. What have you done with my brother?" she shouted after the Witch.

Slowly, Jadis turned around in the doorway. "Ah, I was wondering when you would ask." A frown now, her brows knitting together. "These are the dungeons. He is nearby. You didn't think I would leave you together?"

Lucy was just glad that he was still alive, unless...unless the Witch was lying to her. She had to know. She had to see him again, to know he was all right before...whatever the Witch had planned for them. "I want to see him."

The Witch laughed, a musical sound that chilled Lucy to the core. "Patience, child. You will see each other soon, but not quite yet."

"No!" Lucy shouted, causing herself to flinch at how loud it sounded in the echoing room. Even the Witch seemed surprised. "No, I want to see him now. How do I know you haven't already killed him?"

The White Witch smirked. "I suppose you shall just have to trust me, child."

In hindsight, Lucy would have laughed if her situation was not so desperate. "Please, let me see him."

The White Witch studied her for a moment, her eyes seeming to bore into the Valiant Queen's soul. "And what will you give me in return?"

The youngest Queen of Narnia chewed on her lower lip, deliberating.

She was a prisoner in the White Witch's castle, and she assumed the Witch had searched her before she woke up.

Rubbing her leather boots together and wondering why the Witch had allowed her to keep even those, she realized that Susan's magical horn was gone. Her dagger, she remembered, had been flung from her hand during the attack. There was nothing she had that the Witch would want, or she figured the woman would have taken it already.

ǁ

Edmund moaned, sagging even further against his chains. It was getting harder and harder to stand up. His legs had grown weak long ago, his knees giving out. Everything ached, but it was a dull sort of aching. He had gotten past the initial pain and he thought maybe he was dying and that was why everything felt so strange.

The Turkish Delight lay untouched on the floor beside him, just out of his reach, where he had kicked it. He was afraid. Afraid the temptation to keep from starving to death would be too strong and he would succumb.

For some reason that he didn't remember, he couldn't eat the Turkish Delight.

Oh, yes, that was it. It represented something horrible, and it would only make him crave more until he did foolish things for it. He remembered that now.

Sighing, Edmund leaned as far as he could against the wall to allow his shaking limbs some respite. There had been no more offers of food after the Turkish Delight came, but there had been no more pain, either, and for that he was glad.

At least now the Witch was leaving him alone.

As if on cue, the door to the dungeons slid open ominously, invading his thoughts. He panicked, sliding back until he could feel his spine grinding into the ice wall behind him. There was no where else to go. He was as far away from the doors as he could get stuck in these chains, but that small distance would not keep him from the Witch for very long.

He squeezed his eyes shut in horrified anticipation, not able to bear the thought of facing the White Witch again. He had tried to stay strong these past few days-weeks?-for Peter's sake, but it was getting harder and harder every time he closed his eyes and dreamed.

Suddenly there was a hand, wrapping around his bare shoulders and pulling him against a warm body. In response, as if his body had just then realized it was cold, he began shivering uncontrollably. Whoever it was offering him their warmth, their comfort, made small crooning sounds and rubbed his upper arms, trying to warm him.

It struck him then that no agent of the Witch would bother to be so gentle.

Warily opening his eyes, knowing this could only be another trick of the Witch to wear him down for...what, he wasn't exactly sure, he glanced up blearily at his new companion in these dungeons.

An angel sat before him, offering him a sad smile as she looked over his many injuries. Her eyes were wide, but that was all of her face that he could make out in the cruel light that had recently invaded the dungeons. There was light, all around her face, a warm, kind light that nonetheless hid her identity from him. He squinted at this being, wondering how this could be real.

He knew the light likely had more to do with his distended stomach and burning back than the fact that she may have been an angel come to rescue him, but it didn't matter to him anymore.

Then the light around her face faded and he found that he recognized this angel. In a horse, cracked voice he whispered, "Lucy?"

He heard her voice as if for the first time then, a voice he had never expected to hear again, a voice that couldn't possibly be real. "Edmund? Are...can you hear me?"

For a moment, his lips wouldn't move, his tongue wouldn't work. He blinked rapidly at her for a few seconds, trying to decide whether or not she was real, then repeated, "Lucy?"

"Oh, Ed!" Lucy fell to her knees on the rock hard ice in front of him, throwing her arms around him and bursting into tears. Her shoulders began shaking and some of her hair fell in face, blinding him and getting in his mouth.

He didn't know how she was here, but her touch was gentle and warm, unlike anything he had become accustomed to ever since the beginning of his imprisonment, and he craved it.

If it was a dream, it was a vast improvement from the nightmares that had been plaguing him, and he didn't mind.

He felt tears filling his eyes, and had he been able to see past her long hair, everything would have still been blurry. Edmund ran a hand through that beautiful, soft hair, twisting his bloodied fingers around each strand that he could reach and fighting back the dry sobs creeping up his throat.

But why was she here? How was she here? Had she come to rescue him? He noticed that her hands weren't even bound. That made no sense.

Finally pulling back, Lucy offered him a watery smile. She rested her hands on his shoulders, unable to let go of him. He took the chance to look her over and knew she was evaluating him in that moment as well.

She wasn't dying or near to it, as she always was in his dreams. Her hair was a fantastic mess and her clothes were ripped but not bloody. That alone relieved Edmund immensely. There was a bit of dirt and blood smudging her forehead, and he frowned at that, lifting a manacled wrist to it. She flinched away at the unexpected pain this caused her, but forced on a smile in the next moment.

As for his sister, the sight of her older brother horrified her, and she found herself wishing she still had her dagger, so she could run the Witch through. It was a rather horrible thought, and, despite everything the Witch had done she regretted it as instantly as she thought it, but the idea wouldn't leave her.

She evaluated him from a healer's perspective, knowing that she could not look upon him as a sister without gagging at how badly he was hurt.

Edmund was skin and bones. She barely recognized him but for the dark mop of hair on his head and those haunted brown eyes, looking as they usually did the morning after a particularly bad nightmare. There were bruises and cuts all over him, and, as her hands slid down his back, she could feel the raised flesh there, evidence of a beating. He wasn't wearing a tunic, and she could count every one of his ribs through his skin. His hands were held back by sharp metal manacles, chafing the skin around his wrists.

A dry sob caught in her throat, and she hugged her brother tighter, closing her eyes.

"Lucy," Edmund repeated hoarsely, his voice sounding harsh and cracked to his own ears. He couldn't remember the last time he had spoken without screaming soon after. "You're alive."

She hadn't been, in his last dream. He knew dreams didn't usually follow a particular pattern, so it didn't make sense to believe that this one would have anything to do with the last, but he couldn't help the thought. She had died so many times since he'd fallen asleep.

He was beginning to wonder how it was possible that she was alive in this dream. Unless it was just another cruel nightmare, and she would be ripped away and stabbed to death at any moment...

Lucy lifted her left hand to wipe at her eyes, sniffing as she did so, and then touched his cheek, frowning at how thin he was. The touch yanked Edmund back to the present. "I'm alive! You're alive!"

Edmund didn't respond, just leaned against her, looking exhausted.

"What has she done to you?" She rubbed her thumb along his jawline, and he flinched at even that small contact, for everything ached.

Lucy made a soft crooning sound, not wanting to pull away from him but cramping at the awkward position. His hands reached desperately for her, his movements almost frantic, and then dropped back down once more with an expression of defeat.

"I knew it was only a dream," he whispered brokenly. "It's not really you, is it?"

Lucy gasped, confusion wrinkling her forehead. "Of course it's me, Ed! Of course it is." She reached forward, resting a hand on his shackled wrist in comfort. "You're alright now." She knew it was a lie, but she couldn't tell if he was lucid enough at this point to see through her words. "I'm here; everything's all right."

Edmund leaned against her, resting his head on her shoulder as she moved closer, and closed his eyes with a relieved sigh. Lucy ran a hand through his raven hair, knowing it was something Peter always did after Edmund awoke from a nightmare to calm him.

Only this was much worse than a simple nightmare disturbing Edmund's sleep. Still, the feel of her hand in his hair seemed to slow down his panicked breathing, if only a little.

"It's all right, Ed," she whispered, feeling tears brimming in her eyes as she now saw the full extent of the damages to Edmund's back. Inflicted by a whip. The thought sickened her as she remembered a time when Edmund had been bothered to talk about what had happened to him while with the Witch.

That was when she saw the Turkish Delight, lying just to the right of Edmund, still and untouched on the ice. Anger rushed through her at the sight of it, and it was all she could do not to tense and therefore worry Edmund. The Witch had done this on purpose, though, for what purpose, innocent Lucy could not fathom.

Edmund let out a whimper then, and it was so unlike Edmund not to try and act strong in front of Lucy especially, even when under the worst imaginable pain, that Lucy frowned in fear, glancing up and meeting his dark eyes. Somehow, those eyes seemed to have gotten older and even more hooded in the time the siblings had been separated.

"Don't be frightened, Ed," she whispered, saying the first words that came to mind. "Peter's coming for us," she leaned closer, just in case the Witch was outside eavesdropping, though she had no doubt the Witch already knew what she was going to say. "He has an army right outside. And Aslan will rescue us soon. We need only wait for one of them to make the first move."

Looking over her undoubtedly broken brother, Lucy felt the first pangs of doubt. There were black bags underneath Edmund's eyes, reaching down to his too-gaunt cheekbones. Blood marred the side of his throat.

How could Aslan have allowed the Just King to go through such pain, sitting by and doing nothing?

No, Aslan always had a plan. He was there for them; he would ensure that all this did not go unavenged. They need only have patience, as she had tried to warn her siblings.

"Brave words," a tauntingly amused and at the same time cold voice interrupted their little reunion, and what little blood was still there rushed from Edmund's face at the sound. The unconscious reaction was awarded a lilting laugh. "Did you miss me, Edmund? Or were you beginning to believe the little Queen?"

Before Lucy could understand what was happening, she was roughly shoved away by her brother. She found herself falling backward and landing on her backside on the ice while Edmund pulled back against the wall as far as he could go, huddling against it and quivering in fear. Lucy tried to rise, tried to reassure him, but suddenly found herself unable to move.

"I knew it!" Edmund hissed, glaring at her like she was some sort of vile fiend. He did not even glance at the White Witch as she strode gracefully into the dungeons, her white gown sweeping around her feet. There was a blood red grin fixed on her face, a grin that froze Lucy to the core.

"Edmund, what-?"

"I knew you were only a dream," Edmund repeated softly, chanting it like a mantra. It was his only thing left to hold onto. She was only a dream, and now the Witch was going to kill her as she always did but that was all right because the Lucy in front of him was only a dream. The real Lucy was somewhere safe, somewhere far from here, with Peter and Susan...

Peter. Soon, he would wake up from this horrific, never-ending nightmare and Peter would be there to assure him that none of it was real.

The Witch stepped up behind Lucy, and Edmund found himself wishing Peter would wake him up quickly.

The look of horror on Lucy's face made him hesitate in his conclusions for only a moment, but then he shoved himself further against the wall and wished for once that he could be buried inside that ice, so that he did not have to go through this again.

"Edmund, I'm not a dream," she said softly, her voice warm like honey, but he didn't believe her for an instant. "Listen to me, Ed, this is real! I'm real! Whatever the Witch has done to you..." she sounded a bit more panicked now.

Horrified by her words, Edmund lifted his shackled hands to cover his ears. Lucy's eyes widened even further, and he found himself sending a thousand apologies to this dream-Lucy.

"None of this was my doing, little Daughter of Eve," the Witch simpered with a wicked smile, trotting forward until she stood next to Edmund. A hand reached out and touched his head, and Edmund let out another terrified whimper, jerking away. His hands slowly came away from his ears, though.

The Witch laughed. "Well, some of it was. The physical pain. Nay, this madness is all his own doing, though I wish I could take credit for it. I suppose, in a small way, I can. The mind is such a...powerful thing. Isn't it, my little prince?" She reached down and picked up the plate of Turkish Delight, holding it out to him temptingly.

Edmund paled, shrinking away from her.

The Witch laughed and allowed him his space. "As touching as this little...reunion was, I am afraid I cannot allow it to last," she said, turning back to Lucy. "I have pressing matters, after all."

Lucy glared at her, wondering what Father Christmas would think of her intentions if she had her dagger in that moment. "You said-,"

The Witch shrugged, still grinning. "I'm afraid your dear older brother is due to arrive any moment now, little Queen, and as much as I would love to allow this to continue-," she motioned towards the now shaking Edmund, "I'm afraid he will not wait, and will likely insist upon seeing you."

Lucy eyed the Witch with confusion and distrust. Her earlier words finally sunk in, and the Valiant Queen paled. "What manner of business do you have with the High King?"

The White Witch bristled at that title. "I am going to offer him a choice that will change Narnia forever. But don't worry," a sudden smile twisted her features. "You'll both be there for the main event. You will hear all about it then."

The door opened and two large ogres came in, carrying axes. Lucy paled. In a moment, she found her hands bound behind her back and she was dragged to her feet. Then one of the ogres stepped towards Edmund, and, lifting his ax, broke Edmund's chains.

The Just King whimpered at the ax came perilously close to his skin, but then his chains were chopped in half. A small length of chain hung from each wrist and each ankle, but he was, mostly, free.

Lucy knew better, though. Edmund was in no shape to try and run. He didn't even look like he was capable of standing on his own.

The White Witch gestured to the door of the dungeons. "Shall we?" she smiled at Lucy.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: And here's another chapter! Last chapter was the most reviews I've ever gotten so far, and we've gotten to fifty already! You guys are so great!

Thank you to Green for the lovely review you left! And to my other guest reviews! I'm glad that people are enjoying this story and all of your reviews for the last chapter were very encouraging and sweet. Please keep reviewing! I like to hear what you guys have to say about this little story.

Chapter 13

The bounty hunter had been offered men, to travel with him on his search for the boy, but he declined, telling the Tarkaan paying him that he preferred to work alone. It saved time and his patience, which was considerably short with other people, but not so with searching for his prey.

He was beginning to regret that, not for the lack of company but simply for fairing the desert terrain. He had been this far North before, but that had been a long time ago and the last trip had not been so pleasant.

He had found what he assumed to be the boy's tracks, leading to the edge of the city before they disappeared altogether.

But he was not Calormen's best tracker for nothing.

The boy had gone into the city on an errand for the Tarkaan, that much he had learned before leaving the Tarkaan, and he traced the boy's footsteps all the way to the shop to which he was supposed to have gone, on the outskirts of Tashbaan.

There any traces of the boy seemed to have disappeared, as if he was at one moment there, and the next, vanished into thin air. It did not help that the Tarkaan had commissioned the bounty hunter for this task so long after the boy's disappearance, he reflected, or he might have already found the brat.

A thought occurred to him that had not before, as his mind ran over the intricate details of the sand around the boy's tracks. There had been something scraped along the ground in front of the boy, something that distinctly resembled...a burlap sack.

Was it possible that someone else knew who the boy was, and intended to use him as ransom?

The bounty hunter had gone to see the shopkeeper the brat had been sent to then, slipping into his house through the back door near nightfall when there were no customers.

The shopkeeper was a tailor, hard at work at his sewing when the bounty hunter entered; he didn't even look up. He wasn't married, and lived alone. That much the bounty hunter had learned simply by watching him for the day.

The bounty hunter slipped up carefully behind him, coming in through a window, yanking his silver-hilt knife silently from its sheath. It had cost him a few baubles at the market today, but it was a fine knife.

The knife let out a soft ringing when it was removed from the sheath, and that, at least, caught the old tailor's notice. He stiffened, but did not set aside his sewing. Apparently he wished to go out with his trade in hand, literally.

A moment later, the blade was pressed against the tailor's leathery neck, and the bounty hunter could feel the tailor's Adam's apple bob beneath it in fright. It was a thick neck for so thin a man, and he would have to cut deep to draw blood.

"There was a boy who came here, a little over two weeks ago, at the order of two royal blue robes and a silken gown for a certain Tarkaan. Do you remember this boy, O talkative tailor?" The bounty hunter's voice was raspy and cold, though he was beginning to feel hot in the black garb he wore.

The tailor gulped once more, the blade choking him, but he managed to squeak past it, "I remember the order, but not the boy. As I recall, no one ever came to collect it. Now release me, and we can talk about this like civilized people."

The bounty hunter had to admit, he was impressed with the tailor's bravery, but in the end, it would do the man no use.

"You are certain? He was a whipping boy. You would remember him, I think," the bounty hunter demanded, his grip on the knife loosening slightly, but he did not pull it away.

"Yes," the man gasped, as a small trickle of blood made its way down his taut throat and onto the collar of his tunic. "No boy ever arrived here for them. If you would like them, I can go and fetch them for you. But I was promised to be paid when someone picked them up..."

The bounty hunter released his grip on the tailor, and the man slumped forward, gasping for air. He dropped his sewing in an effort to stop the bleeding at his neck.

Then, without another word, he hurried into the other room to get the finished parcels.

By the time he had returned, the bounty hunter was already gone. He had no interest in the Tarkaan's clothes, anyway. His only concern was the boy. The Tarkaan could send someone else to collect the clothes and hope they didn't get kidnapped or run off along the way.

This was turning out to be more interesting than the bounty hunter had originally thought it would be.

He went back around the shop to the boy's shoe prints, and squatted in the sand, studying them carefully, ignoring the people hurrying around him to get home.

The desert was next, and the bounty hunter rode out of the city during midday, taking with him a flagon of water. But there were no signs of the boy in the desert, either, as he might have guessed. In fact, there was no sign of anyone but him.

The only person stupid enough to travel through the desert had to have had help, and a lot of it.

He doubted the boy had such friends in high places.

It was as the bounty hunter was returning to Tashbaan; annoyed at his own failure and wondering how long he had before the Tarkaan grew bored and murdered his sister, that he happened to look East, towards the sea.

Just as a merchant ship was leaving port, headed North, probably to bring trade to Archenland. Its beautiful, full white sails flapped in the wind, the symbol of King Lune of Archenland bright against the afternoon sun.

And the bounty hunter kicked his heels into the nag he rode, swearing bitterly at his own folly.

ǁ

High King Peter glared at the dwarf after the creature finished his conditions for the parley. "She wants me to come into her castle?" he demanded. He hadn't really heard all of the other conditions, stuck on that one, one of the first the dwarf had mentioned. Oreius shifted nervously beside him, glancing up at the side of the valley where the giants of Harfang sat waiting for battle. Their king leered at Peter, as if daring him to start the fighting now.

Peter, Oreius noted, didn't even seem to notice the Giant King.

Peter marveled at this condition. The Witch must truly think him an idiot if she thought he was going to step one foot into her enchanted ice castle. His two siblings were already stuck inside, after all.

The dwarf nodded, glowering at the wolves he deemed entirely too close for comfort. For their part, they were working to retain their growls, hackles rising in silent warning. "And you must come alone. That is one of her conditions, yes."

"Your Majesty-" Oreius began, but Peter cut him off, turning to the dwarf with flaming blue eyes, hand clasping the hilt of Rhindon. The dwarf quaked for a moment underneath that intense gaze, and then looked down, unable to hold it.

"If the White Witch believes me fool enough to fall for that-"

"Her Majesty bids me to remind you that she holds captive your brother and youngest sister now, two of the usurpers to _her_ throne. She bid me tell you that if you do not agree to come and negotiate, she will kill them _both_ and set both of her armies upon you in an instant."

The dwarf seemed to have regained his courage in that moment, if only because the Witch spoke through him in her twisted message.

Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was only after the fact that he realized how hopeless this made him look in front of his own army. But he didn't know what to do. If only Aslan were here, then the lion could shine some light on the situation, advise him about how to best deal with the White Witch.

But Aslan wasn't here, and Peter seriously doubted he was ever going to show up again, considering recent events. This was the darkest period Narnia had been in since the beginning of the Golden Age, and if the Lion was not willing to assist with this...

It didn't matter. His siblings were in there, alone and frightened. Aslan knew what the Witch had been doing to Edmund ever since catching him, and Lucy had just witnessed the deaths of her mice regiment.

He glanced up at the two armies flanking his own and took a deep breath. There was nothing he could do. King Lune had not come to their rescue, and Susan was locked away in Cair Paravel. A negotiation with the Witch, though it screamed against everything Peter stood for, was the only way his army was getting out of this alive, and likely the only way the Narnians were, as well.

Not to mention his little brother and sister.

"I will go to this parley with the Witch," he stated resolutely, before anyone could stop him.

"Your Majesty," Oreius took a step forward, hand lying threateningly close to his sword.

This time, Peter paid attention, turning so that his back was to the dwarf and declaring in a low voice to his general, "I must do this, Oreius. We do not have enough men to win this fight. An agreement can be made."

"What agreement? We both know the Witch will not compromise anything. If you do this, Narnia will belong to her. Your Majesty, we have fought against greater odds before," Oreius tried, desperately, to come up with a solution that wouldn't entitle his king going alone into the Witch's home. He could not see any situation where that turned out well.

"But never without Aslan," Peter countered, wincing slightly at the reminder. Did Oreius think he didn't know the stubbornness of the Witch? She had only consented to spare Edmund last time because she thought she was getting a better prize, in killing the Lion. Because she thought that, without the Lion, Narnia would fall.

Oreius nodded shortly. "Your brother and sister are trapped by the Witch. The Gentle Queen holds Cair on her own, and will fall without our support. Narnia cannot afford to lose you, too, my king, or all is lost. Please, I must protest. We do not know if Aslan will not come soon." The first vestiges of emotion appeared in the centaur's eyes then, and Peter blinked in surprise. He had never seen his general break before, and the sight was enough to let him know how serious the situation was.

"Oreius, I must do this. More than just my life is at stake. And I believe that Aslan has made it quite clear that we are on our own this time." He hated himself, even as he said the words. Somehow, saying them seemed to make them all the more true.

Oreius dipped his head in submission. "As you wish, my King." Then he turned to the dwarf, eyes challenging the creature to refuse him. "But I will go with you."

"No!" Peter and the dwarf said at the same time. The sound of his voice, mingling with this disgusting excuse of a Narnian, made him cringe a little.

Oreius took a step forward, hand on his sword, very obviously daring Peter to refuse him this. Peter shook his head, almost imperceptibly, and leaned forward, voice so low when he did speak that only his general could hear him.

"You must stay here, to rally the men in case...this does not go as planned. And do not forget, that the Witch does not know we sent for help in Archenland."

Oreius glared stubbornly. "You know as well as I do, my king, that if Archenland had gotten our message and intended to help, they would have come by now."

Peter could be just as stubborn when it suited him. "King Lune has never failed us in the past, Oreius."

Oreius clasped Peter's shoulder in warning. "King Lune has not been the same since the kidnapping of his son, my king. I do not think we can depend on him in this."

Peter put a hand on top of Oreius' own, giving him a cool smile. "Just...be prepared for anything. You're the only one I can trust for that."

He pulled away, voice rising, "But I will not be going into the Witch's castle alone. I am not suicidal, after all."

The dwarf looked ready to protest, but Peter beat him to it. "I will be taking my wolf guard with me."

His wolves glanced up in surprise, and then, one by one, grinned evilly at the dwarf. This was one duty they would be honored to carry out.

The dwarf attempted a feeble protest, "Her Majesty's wishes were clear-"

"If 'Her Majesty' is afraid of a few wolves, whom she seemed to have no qualms about in the past, then perhaps we should meet down here instead, where there are far less of them," Peter snapped, sick of all this posturing.

The dwarf blinked, then let out a long-suffering sigh and turned back to his pony, struggling to get back up on it. No one stepped forward to help him. Once he settled, he turned tiny, piercing eyes on the High King.

"If you and your...wolf guard would be so kind as to accompany me," he said through clenched teeth, "the True Queen of Narnia is waiting."

Oreius stiffened at the obvious insult, but Peter ignored it, gesturing for his wolves to follow behind him as he climbed up onto his steed and took off after the red dwarf.

ǁ

The bounty hunter stared hard at the secretary in charge of chronicling ships that landed or took off from Calormen's main port. He was a little, wiry man, wearing loose spectacles, his long grey hair falling down over a tanned face, and he had proved to be most unhelpful in the bounty hunter's search for the boy.

In a way, he reminded the bounty hunter all too much of the unhelpful tailor.

He was beginning to regret all those years he had spent slaving away in the dwarf mines. He had lost his touch, and many of his contacts. And he knew this little man was hiding something, but it had nothing to do with the boy he was looking for.

Rubbing his temples in frustration, the bounty hunter leaned over the secretary's shoulder, trying to make some sense of his scribbled notes. "Are there any ships leaving for Archenland soon?" he demanded, making a choice quickly as the old man's eyesight, helped along by filthy spectacles, simply could not be trusted for this sort of interrogation.

The secretary poured over his notes, absently rubbing the two gold pieces the bounty hunter had given him for his knowledge. "The next one is in two weeks, sir."

The bounty hunter ran a nervous hand through his hair. Two weeks, and any manner of things could have happened to the boy, and he could lose his sister.

"Very well," he turned to go, but then thought better of it, turning back to the old man. "Have there been any...suspicious characters who've left recently for Archenland?"

The old man suddenly lit up. "Come to think of it, yes. There was one talking Narnian beast on one of the first ships this month, a mangy wolf creature whom everyone steered clear of. Shocked me, it did, that such a creature would be brave enough...or perhaps foolish enough to come here, of all places, knowing what the Tisroc, may he live forever, does with them. Alone, he was."

"How long ago?" the bounty hunter demanded, leaning close to the man, one hand on the hilt of his knife. "And the other ships? How long have they have been gone?"

"Well, the first ship left first day of the month, and just recently returned. The other ships were two and three weeks ago, I'd think. Wait, where are you-" the bounty hunter glanced down at the parchments with departure times on them once more, and then disappeared around the corner, "going?"

"Ah, well," the old man shrugged, sitting back down, "but these are nice gold coins."

It wasn't much, but it was all the bounty hunter had found so far, and he might as well be going to Archenland in search of the boy anyway. The Tarkaan had mentioned family there.

But he wouldn't be taking a ship. There simply wasn't time for that. He would have to do something far more suicidal; cross the desert to the North. It would certainly be quicker...if he managed to survive the trip.

But he had done it once before.

ǁ

Peter rubbed his hands together nervously as they neared the White Witch's castle, her faithful gathering in a semi-circle behind and in front of Peter and his wolves. He could just barely make out the Narnian camp in the valley below.

The Castle was much different than it had been when Edmund disappeared through those closing ice doors. Peter remembered an imposing, terrifying ice building, long spires reaching high into the sky. It had been night time then, making it all the more fearsome.

But the castle in front of him now barely looked half as magnificent. Half of it was gone, all that had been ice, Peter assumed wryly. It didn't look nearly as bad as it had the first time Peter had seen it after the Witch's demise. Then, it had hardly been a fortress, more of an ancient relic.

Then they passed through the iron gates, into the castle, and Peter learned the full extent of the Witch's concealment spell.

He gaped, unable to hold shut his mouth as it swung open in shock. As they went through the gate, the ice spires seemed to suddenly appear, ice grew quickly on iron, and the Witch's castle was at least twice the size Peter remembered it being.

The ground, too, was now covered in a sheet of ice where a moment ago it had been dirt. There were even new stone statues sitting in the middle of her courtyard, though not nearly as many as there had once been, and Peter was grateful for that.

And there were hundreds of the Witch's faithful flocking into the courtyard.

The gates closed behind Peter and his entourage ominously, and his wolves let out a few frightened whimpers, the likes of which he had never heard from them before.

One of the Witch's agents let out a snicker at the sound and Peter turned around to glare at it. He wasn't even entirely sure what it was, all covered in muck and dried blood.

When he turned forward again, the Witch was standing in the doorway of her castle. The sight made him jump on his horse, much to the amusement of her agents, and his dogs began to growl fiercely at her.

She paid them no mind, staring intently at Peter, as if searching his very soul. Then she blinked, something he couldn't remember her ever doing, and looked away.

She looked just as he had remembered her; long, flowing hair pulled back, ashen face, and red-rimmed eyes. She wore a long, flowing black gown, much like the one she had worn during the Battle but with lace sleeves and no hair from the lion this time.

Just another reminder that Aslan was nowhere to be found.

He reflected with a grin of triumph that at least her ice crown was gone. At least the Deep Magic still recognized him as High King of Narnia.

The Witch suddenly lifted a hand, and for an irrational moment Peter was frightened that her hand was, in reality, her wand and she would turn him to stone. Then she gestured towards her castle and said, with a smile, "When you're ready, Son of Adam."

Peter blinked at her. "Where are my siblings?"

The Witch simply gave him an amused smile and stepped inside, her flowing gown dragging against the ice behind her. She was gone in the next moment, rounding a corner and out of his sight.

Biting his lip in a vain effort not to call out after her, Peter slid down from his horse and unsheathed Rhindon, wanting to be fully prepared to face her. Rushing up the icy steps, he went through all the tactics Oreius had taught him. His wolves followed after him as he walked inside the castle, their hackles raised in anticipation.

The Witch's faithful did not follow them, nor did the dwarf. Peter wondered briefly at that.

He was just in time, once he entered the castle, to see the Witch's flowing gown round another corner.

Forcing himself not to sprint after her, Peter followed.

He reached the throne room seconds after her, and pulled up, his wolves skidding to a halt behind him.

The throne room was filled with creatures; minotaurs, hags, dwarves, wolves, and, surprisingly, centaurs. That sight pained Peter the most. And there were other Narnians that he wouldn't have expected to join ranks with the Witch, but he was too focused on her to pay them much attention.

As the White Witch walked past her ranks to the throne room, they parted like water before her. There was that same amused smile on her face as she stepped lightly up onto the first step in front of her ice throne, fully restored, like the rest of this horrid castle.

He had never been inside when it was like this, and the result was a little overwhelming. And cold. So, so cold. He was beginning to wish he had worn warmer garments. It was cold outside even now, too cold for summer, but in here it was dead winter.

The White Witch finally came to a stop, inches away from her throne, and held her head high. One of her wolves let loose a howl, and then the Fell Creatures began to chant, "Long live the true Queen of Narnia! May she triumph over her enemies!"

The chant swelled, and Peter could feel the hate-filled glares of the Fell Creatures as the Queen slowly took her seat on the icy throne. A centaur stepped forward and draped a heavy white fur around her shoulders like a mantle.

No, as if it were a crown.

And Peter realized with horror and growing dread that she didn't need to be crowned. Even as he stood there, small icicles started forming, climbing out of her hair in spikes as they once had.

Aslan had truly abandoned them.

Peter took a hesitant step forward, and received the growls of every Fell creature in the room. Rolling his eyes, he turned to the Witch.

"I came here under the impression that you wished to negotiate, Jadis."

Her faithful snarled at that, but the Witch just smiled that same look of amusement, lifting a hand to silence them.

"Empty threats and pointed blades," the Witch grinned down at him, and he suddenly felt dwarfed in this throne room, surrounded by the Witch's agents. He should have never agreed to this.

He wondered if this was how Edmund had felt when he came here to betray them, but instantly threw the thought from his mind. This wasn't anything like that.

Isn't it?

"It seems you haven't changed since the last time we met, Son of Adam. And like the last time, my rights must still be observed."

"Then state your terms," Peter demanded, his voice dripping with venom. "But I'm not leaving here without my siblings, and I'm not leaving Narnia to you again."

"Oh?" she gazed at him in pretend shock. "Then I'm afraid we're at a bit of an impasse, Son of Adam."

He glowered at her. What had she wanted to negotiate for then? Surely she had realized he would never willingly hand over his siblings, or Narnia, to her, no matter how many armies she raised against him.

And when Narnia was devoured in fire and ice, as she had threatened before? Could he even give up his siblings for Narnia's sake then?

No, he would die before then, Peter knew.

"But, fortunately," the Witch continued with that same awful smile, "there are more than one of you monarchs enthroned in Cair. The only time that I've found that fortunate, I think."

Her faithful laughed, but Peter just stared at the Witch in confusion, her words not sinking in.

"What are you getting at?"

"And here I'd have thought you'd have worried yourself sick over your dear siblings." She shrugged, ignoring his question. "I suppose I was wrong, but I thought we could start this with a small reunion."

Peter raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out what she was up to. Then he dipped his head. "How very gracious of you," he muttered between clenched teeth.

The Witch snapped her fingers. "Bring the traitor and Daughter of Eve," she commanded, and Peter suddenly a door to the left slam open. His head spun in that direction, just in time to see four foul looking ogres dragging what may have resembled his youngest siblings into the throne room.

"Ed! Lucy!" Peter shouted, rushing toward his two youngest siblings.

They both looked up in the moment that they were being pulled apart, and gasped in unison at the sight of Peter, standing before the Witch on her throne.

Their reactions beyond that, however, were entirely different.

Edmund tried to run toward him, apparently oblivious to the guards holding him back and his own failing limbs. "Peter!" he shouted, writhing in their grips. It was a wonder he even had the strength to do that.

Looking him over, the High King was appalled by how badly the Witch had treated Edmund. It was a wonder he was still alive, and Peter had a sinking feeling he wouldn't be for much longer.

He was covered in dried blood and mottled bruises, his skin far too pale and dark bags under his eyes. He was far too thin; his pants hanging off his frame. His shirt was gone, and he had to be suffering in this terribly cold place. He was normally skinnier than the rest of them, but this was to the point of starvation, and Edmund hadn't been gone _that_ long.

Lucy stood beside Edmund, a bit more gracefully, hands bound behind her back, arms gripped tightly by two more guards. She looked exhausted, her hair disheveled and clothing ripped in several places, but no where near as bad off as Edmund. She settled for simply saying his name.

"Peter," and he wasn't sure which hurt him more.

One of Peter's wolves snapped then, unable to control herself at the sight of the Just King. She flew forward in a rage, teared bared, lunging at one of the ogres holding the two youngest queens.

Peter shouted for her to stop, not sure how the Witch would react, but the wolf did not heed him.

The ogre flung the youngest monarchs out of harm's way, seeming perfectly willing to meet the wolf in battle, reaching for his ax.

Peter watched in shocked silence as her teeth ripped through the ogre's grey skin, and the creature let out a strangled cry before he was tackled to the ground. The wolf continued to bite at him, blood matting her fur and wetting the icy floor, despite his anguished cries. He was lying flat on his back now, his ax having skidded across the floor. The ogre let out a groan of pain before falling to the ground, still.

Peter's other wolves looked more than willing to follow her, but waited for their High King's command.

The Witch's faithful watched on in silence, some of them eyeing the scene hungrily, grasping their weapons. They were disgusting to Peter, these creatures.

The Witch screamed in fury, a vein popping out on her neck, wand switching into her left hand. Before anyone had the time to react, she stalked forward, and Peter's wolf realized what she was doing at the last instant.

She whimpered and tried to get away, but it was too late. The Witch had turned her to stone.

The sight of the stone statue standing before him made Edmund whimper, and he turned away in horror.

The White Witch turned back to Peter with a scowl, standing in between him and his siblings. Her eyes were blazing with anger, and for a moment he thought she would attack him.

"You promised no violence when you came here for a parley, Son of Adam," the Witch accused.

Peter bowed his head, gritting his teeth and silently mourning the wolf. At the same time, he wished he had the courage to do as she had done.

"The Wolf knew she was not to do that. I do not know what came over her," he snapped, not sounding at all sorry.

With a nod, the Witch returned to her throne, glaring dangerously at Edmund, as if this were all somehow his fault.

One of her minotaurs came forward and dragged the stone statue of the wolf away.

Glancing at the Witch for permission, and hating that he needed her permission to go near his own siblings, Peter hurried forward, his wolves forming a semi-circle around him. When he reached his siblings, the ogres took a step back, as if the fiery look in his eyes had frightened them.

For a moment, he felt awkward, reuniting with his siblings in front of the Witch's army, and the Witch herself, like he was revealing a weakness that the Witch would be glad to exploit. But the feeling was soon shoved from his mind as he came even closer and saw the full extent of the damage done to Edmund.

Peter swallowed. He had thought he would be prepared for whatever horrors the Witch concocted after five years of comforting Ed through unimaginable night terrors, but this...He blinked back tears at the sight of his little brother.

"Are you all right?" He whispered, not sure who he was addressing, Lucy or Edmund. Obviously, Edmund wasn't. Then, he wrapped his arms around them both and pulled them into a gentle embrace.

Edmund melted against him, his feeble, spidery hands clinging to Peter's shirt, too thin, too weak. Peter glanced down and could see the marks of a whip across Edmund's back. Apparently, the Witch no longer thought he was enough of a threat to be bound.

Lucy, on the other hand, just leaned against him, unable to do anything more. He ran a hand through her silky hair, attempting to tame down the tangles.

Peter could feel the hilt of Rhindon pressing into his side, and it was all he could do not to run the blade straight into the Witch after seeing how much she had made his family suffer in the recent weeks.

"Pete," Edmund whimpered against his neck, breath hot and feverish. That worried the High King, but his throat clogged in that moment, and he found he couldn't speak. "I knew it was all just a bad dream. I knew you would wake me up soon."

Peter lifted his eyebrows to Lucy over Edmund's shoulder, but she just shook her head in sadness.

"Ed..." Lucy shook her head adamantly at him, and he changed whatever he had been about to say to "I'm here now," but didn't know how much of a promise it could be to either of his siblings. After all, the White Witch was holding all the cards now.

"What did she do to you?" Peter crooned into Edmund's ear. He couldn't believe his brother had suffered so and he could do nothing yet. He would kill the Witch then and there if he could, but he had been fool enough to come here, and they were severely outnumbered by her army.

It was the wrong thing to ask. Edmund's whole body stiffened and his lower lip began to quiver at some unseen terror.

Peter swallowed. "Never mind, Ed. Doesn't matter," he ran a hand through Edmund's hair and down his neck, in an effort to calm him. It usually worked after Edmund had a particularly bad fright. Peter wasn't sure that it worked this time.

And he promised himself that the Witch would pay for this, peace treaty or no.

Pulling back from them slightly, Peter frowned, the Witch's earlier words sinking in. But before he could say anything, Lucy was whispering hoarsely, "Peter, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone off on my own, this is all my fault."

Peter's eyes widened in horror at her words. "No, no. None of this is your fault. One of your mice guard got back and told me what happened."

Lucy gave him a small smile at that news, that one of them had survived. She had been sure they were all dead. "Who was it?"

And for the life of him, Peter couldn't remember the poor mouse's name. Guilt flashed across his face, but he was saved from having to answer by Edmund, who interrupted softly.

"You'll get us out of this, right, Peter?" It was the most lucid he had sounded so far.

"Where's Susan?" Lucy asked then, her mind spinning. "And why are you alone here?"

The White Witch cleared her throat, and Peter was forced to take his attention off his siblings and turn back to her and her Fell. She had sat down in her throne, white furs draped around her body and the armrests where she lay her porcelain hands. Her neck was exposed.

Peter couldn't help wondering how quickly he would be turned to stone before he could throw his sword at that pale neck.

"I called you in here for negotiations, little king. Believe it or not, I do not want this war anymore than you do." Her face betrayed no emotions, but Peter thought she sounded amused. Her eyes flicked to Edmund after a moment.

She was lying.

Peter snorted at her words, backing away from Edmund and Lucy just in case she did plan on turning him to stone. "I hardly think-"

"I do. The Narnians have suffered enough over the petty wars of those superior to them. Of Sons of Adam and those like myself."

The moment he had moved away from his siblings, the ogres converged back on them, despite the growling wolves trailing Peter.

"There's your first mistake," Peter interrupted, irritation bubbling to the surface.

He had to force himself not to grab Rhindon then and there and attempt to rescue his siblings, had to remind himself that even if they made it out of the Witch's castle, they still had to get past her army. Oreius wouldn't even see that they were in distress, thanks to that concealing spell.

"What?" she sounded surprised he had dared to challenge her.

"Thinking you and I are better than the creatures we rule. That is not what it means to be a king." A swallow. "Aslan taught me that."

The Witch rolled her eyes, significantly less disturbed by the mention of the Lion's name than he had thought she would be. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Aslan had abandoned him. Or Peter's lack of belief these days.

"That name is not welcome in this place," she lectured coldly. "But if you wish to lower yourself to the position of an animal, be my guest."

Her guards, Peter's entourage, and the wolf hovering just behind her throne bristled at that, though her agents were significantly less disgruntled by it than Peter's by the insult.

The Witch folded her hands in her lap then, prepared to state her terms.

"I do not actually care for Narnia itself. I understand that it is yours, now that you and your siblings sit upon the thrones of Cair, and there is, sadly, nothing I can do to stop the prophecy now." Her eyes lingered on Edmund a moment longer than Peter deemed necessary, as if she were deeming how to properly cut him up later.

He didn't believe her words for a moment, with that bloodthirsty look trained on Edmund.

"Then what do you want?"

"What do I want?" she repeated with a smirk. "But I am a Queen in my own right, and I require land to rule. I want all the lands to the North of Ettinsmoor; the lands of the giants. I want you to recognize me as their Queen, and allow me and mine to leave to the North peaceably. And in return, I will let your army go unscathed. I will promise never to harm this land again nor attempt to rest it from you-I swear it by the Deep Magic that controls all of our fates." Her eyes had taken on an almost wild look, Peter noted.

Peter stared at her just as intently as she had been staring at him earlier. She wanted the lands North of Ettinsmoor? Then why in Aslan's name was she setting up an army here? He hated to admit it, but she could have easily taken over the lands of the giants with her army and her magic, just as she had once done in Narnia.

None of this made any sense...

_The evil time will be over and done..._

Perhaps it was the prophecy. The Witch could no longer hurt Narnia because they were on the throne, and she had just realized this, so she was settling for the North, and the giants. Hadn't that been what the prophecy meant? That she no longer held any power over Narnia?

Somehow the thought they were the only people standing in her way did not comfort Peter as it should have.

Still, he got the feeling he was missing something important here. He knew she was lying, but what did lying grant her in this situation? He suddenly wished he had allowed Oreius to come in with him, to guide him. He felt too small in this castle, surrounded by the Witch's fell creatures, and he hated that feeling.

"And what of Edmund and Lucy?" he demanded.

The Witch smiled cruelly. "If your army would prefer to try and fight mine, and lose to mine, I will not be so kind in my demands."

"You will hand over my siblings if I agree to this?" Peter repeated, testy.

"We must all make sacrifices, Peter dear," she said slowly, and he hated her then. Suddenly, everything she had done since she first came to terrorize Narnia plagued him, and he had no intention of making a deal with her. Better to die in battle against her, for he knew that she had no intention of keeping any deal.

"Even the great Lion realized that. Even your darling...sister realized that."

Peter glared at the Witch, and then her words sunk in and he turned to Lucy in shock. Surely the Witch couldn't mean...?

Lucy wouldn't look at him, staring guiltily at the ground.

"Yes," the White Witch was practically purring now. "Your darling Queen Lucy saw sense some time ago. She has promised the life that is my price for leaving Narnia. Her life. Granted," those eyes had never left Edmund during this entire meeting, "I'd prefer the young traitor, but I suppose she will have to do."

"You're lying!" Peter shouted, raising Rhindon and fully prepared to run the beastly woman through.

"Ask her yourself," the Witch said with a small chuckle.

Peter turned horrified eyes on Lucy. The girl didn't dare look up, but whispered softly, "It was the only way."

Peter raised an eyebrow, turning to the Witch. "She agreed only because you forced her to."

The Witch and her faithful seemed to find that amusing. "I have been nothing but courteous to the Valiant Queen ever since she stumbled into my domain." She didn't bother to deny her treatment of Edmund, Peter noted.

Edmund started struggling in the ogres' grip, all of his nightmares suddenly coming to life before his eyes. The Witch was going to win. She was going to kill him. It was the only thing he could think about. And Peter was just standing there, letting it happen!

Lucy didn't dare move, staring straight ahead, silent but but somehow elegant, despite her captivity and proposed death.

"But my price is not all bad. I only ask for one of your siblings. The Deep Magic will grant me that. After all, if it were me, I would gladly hand over my own sister. And then there will be peace throughout all of Narnia, like you want, and you would no longer have to be bogged down with sharing your throne."

"And if I refuse?" Peter demanded, curtly. He suddenly felt so tired, so sick of the Witch's honeyed words. Sharing his throne? As if that had ever been a bother.

How could Lucy have agreed to something like this, forcing his hand? If only she had just refused to make a deal...

And then he thought of the reason she had made this deal, and turned to look at his brother, Edmund, thrashing in the grips of his guards, not even seeming to notice the world around him. Blood was beginning to drip onto the ice beneath his feet in a small pool, but one sickeningly too large for the High King.

"Soon, you would see my full power, little king. Narnia would be overturned in fire and water if the Deep Magic is not respected. Your precious lion is not here with a loophole to save you this time. Soon, I would be Queen of Narnia, as the Deep Magic has granted by allowing my return. And you, little king, would beg before me by the end. But you will not refuse something your dear sister offered in the first place, surely. I am not patient, Son of Adam."

Peter obstinately shook his head. "You will hand over my siblings and surrender, or we will settle this with blood, Witch."

The White Witch smiled. "When I have an army twice the size of yours? But I see you do not refute all that I have said," she began calmly, something about her voice spinning around in Peter's mind, making him feel tired and pliable. "Tell me, Son of Adam, do you not think it strange that Aslan has not come to your aid? I know you do." She shook her head, apparently amused by Peter's silence.

"Now, I think I've given you more than enough time, Son of Adam. I will make this fairer for you, if that is what you desire." There was that same ugly smile again, and the tiredness that Peter had been feeling a moment before wore off.

"One of your siblings I shall return to you, here and now, as a gesture of my good faith. The other I shall kill. But which siblings shall be killed and which released, you shall choose, if not your sister. It is your duty as High King, after all. That is my price for leaving you to your...previous Golden Age." She sneered at the term.

This was foolishness. The Witch must see that Peter would never give up one of his siblings as a lamb for her to slaughter, not even for Narnia. Even as he thought it, he felt like a hypocrite, but he knew in his heart he could not do as she asked.

And she must have known it, too. She had something else planned. But what could he do?

There was something about her smile that made Peter want to step forward and slit her throat right then and there. He knew there was something wrong with this scenario, that she shouldn't have given up so easily when she had the upper hand, but there was nothing he could do about it.

And then he realized what she was planning.

The moment one of the four of them died by her hand, she had the power to retake Narnia, and nothing would stand in her way, for she would have defeated the prophecy; four wouldn't be sitting on the throne anymore. Killing Edmund was just menial revenge. This was what she really wanted.

And as much as he didn't want one of his siblings killed, it was imperative that they all be saved from the Witch, for Narnia's sake as much as Peter's own sanity.


End file.
